Tainted Love
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Sequel to Twisted Morals, Sherlock and Jim are sharing John but it's not enough, they both what the full package. Unfortunately for them, John has his own plans.
1. Chapter 1

**Tainted love**

Summary: Sequel to Twisted Morals, Sherlock and Jim are sharing John but it's not enough, they both what the full package. Unfortunately for them, John has his own plans.  
>Warnings: Blood, violence, sex, swearing<br>Rating: M  
>Disclaimer: The characters belong to BBC Sherlock and Arthur Conan-Doyle<br>**AN-** Wow, it's been a long time. Thanks to SalconeDestrivina who reminded me about this sequel.

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><p>"Johnny! Time to wake up!" John groaned and rolled over on the bed, a signal that he would get up when he was fucking ready to get up. Sadly, the worlds only consulting criminal was not taking no for an answer. The duvet was pulled from the bed and the soldier was pounced on and <em>God when did the git get naked<em>?

"Jim, get off!" John yelled as his hands were forced above his head. Sherlock had gone out of a case, he no longer needed both men with him to sleep most of the time but he did have bad nights when Jim and Sherlock all curl up on Sherlock's king-sized bed with him and gripped him tightly until he finally falls asleep. On those nights, the two geniuses would stay with him all night to chase away the nightmares. But that didn't mean that Jim had become the model citizen or that Sherlock had calmed down.

Jim savagely bit the doctor's neck while his hands worked to tie John's wrists to the top of the bed.  
>"I thought you wanted me to get up." John groaned. Moriarty chuckled deeply.<br>"You didn't listen to me. You know I hate it when I'm ignored." He growled, divesting the soldier of his pyjama bottoms. The doctor struggled to break free but a hand on his chest stopped him moving.  
>"You know how this works, Honey, the more you fight it the more it hurts." Jim cooed, lifting the blond doctors legs onto his shoulders.<br>"Boss?" John sighed in relief as he heard Moran's voice. God he hated that man and by hate, he would happily tear every limb off the vile creature slowly, soak them in strong acid then burn the remnants.

Sebastian Moran felt pretty much the same way about John. He despised the man who had taken away from him the only thing he had, by getting him dishonourably discharged. The only thing that was stopping him from conducting his revenge was his boss, who had not left them alone in a room since he allow Moran to have his way with the doctor all those months ago. Sebastian was sitting on his hands and waiting patiently for his chance, though he knew that the chances of both Moriarty and Holmes slipping up, leaving Watson vulnerable, were dwindlingly low at best. Despite all this, right at this moment the hitman was the greatest person on the face of the earth to John.

Moriarty heard his sigh and narrowed his eyes.  
>"What do you want?" He hissed, not looking at the door.<br>"You've got a client." The one thing that both John and Sherlock objected to was clients in the flat. They would not allow Jim to conduct any of his business while at 221b. Which meant that the consulting criminal would have to travel back to his house, a building now inhabited by Sebastian.  
>"Well I'm busy." Moriarty replied, lining himself up.<br>"They don't want to wait, Sir. Actually, they were rather insistent." The doctor shook his head furiously as he realised that Jim was going ahead with his original plan.  
>"This won't take <em>long.<em>" One the last word, Moriarty thrust into John, sheathing himself to the hilt. The doctor was unable to hold back the howl. He wasn't given the chance to get used to the feeling as the criminal started to move in and out of him, increasing the speed until John was yelling an endless stream of curses.

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><p>When the doctor came back to his sense, he was panting heavily with Moriarty gently cleaning himself off.<br>"Try not to walk for a little while, okay Sweetie?" He cooed. John huffed a laugh.  
>"Great advice, now untie me." He replied. Jim smiled darkly and him and the soldier groaned. "Oh come on. Just let me go." He whined. Moriarty patted his head and slipped off the bed.<br>"But you look so helpless. You know how it gets me when I see you like this. Covered in me and not able to do a damn thing about it." He answered, walking into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he returned immaculately dressed. He took one look at John and rolled his eyes before moving to untie him.  
>"I expect some treat tonight for showing mercy." He warned.<br>"Piss off." The soldier scoffed. Moriarty kept his hands on the rope holding John to the bed.  
>"I could leave you like that all day then fuck you again when I get back for the cheek of it." He threatened. John bit his lip.<br>"Just untie me." He sighed defeatedly. Moriarty grinned and undid the rope, massaging the doctor's wrists when they were released. The soldier glared at him, not making a remark in case he found himself reattached to the bed.  
>"I think a blowjob would be nice, haven't had one in a while." Jim suggested with a wink before he slipped off the bed and walked out the door. John glared at the door for many minutes before rolling out of bed and making his way into the shower.<p>

With a towel around his waist, John walked out of the bedroom to get himself a cup of tea. He once the tea was made, he padded back into the living room. Just as he was about to sit down in his chair, the doctor realised that he wasn't alone. Jim was watching him from his own chair while the sofa had two people on it. Two unknown people. Moran stood behind them. John clenched his jaw and shot Moriarty a look.  
>"You know the rules." He hissed with narrowed eyed. Jim smiled sheepishly.<br>"But Johnny, you know that the rules are only in place when Shirley is in the house. I don't see him here, do you?" He asked, giving his clients an apologetic glance. "Besides, go back to bed. I know that it must be _killing _you to walk. I'll even bring you breakfast when I've finished. My treat." John pinched the bridge on his nose. When Sherlock found out, he was going to go batshit.  
>"One hour. If they're not out by then I swear to God I am locking you out of the bedroom for at least a month. And if you don't think I can, think Sherlock. I'm sure he would love to keep you from me for a whole month." Without waiting for a reply, John stomped back into the bedroom and slammed the door. Jim waited a moment then smiled at his clients.<br>"Sorry about that, he's rather annoyed that I tied him up this morning. Soldier boys; they're so hard to control. Anyway, as you were saying?"

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><p>John lay back on the bed and waited. He was going to give that bastard one hour exactly and then he was going to lock the bedroom door and keep the key in the lock. After that, he was going to ring Sherlock and tell him, not that he wouldn't know just by walking in, but he seemed to get more annoyed if John told him. The doctor also decided that they were now even and there was no way that Moriarty was getting a 'treat'. God, that man was insufferable. Despite himself, the soldier chuckled as he realised that he often said the same thing about Sherlock. Both his geniuses were insufferable and he swore they were out to kill him.<p>

Speaking of killing him, he hadn't heard from Mycroft since the man kidnapped him, four months ago. The physical injuries had long since healed but John found his insides quivered whenever he thought about the consulting detectives' brother. That didn't mean that he would become a wreck if he came face to face with the man, oh no, if he _ever _saw Mycroft again he was going to tear the man apart. He was going to break Mycroft Holmes' mind in two. John looked back at the clock. Fifty minutes had past. Telling himself that it wasn't a bad thing to spend nearly an entire hour plotting how to kill someone, the soldier got up and decided to find some clothes.

Just as the doctor found a clean pair of pants, the bedroom door opened. John turned round to find the consulting criminal prowling towards him.  
>"Don't do that, Johnny." He admonished, eyes blazing. The soldier gulped and slipped the garment on. There was no way he was going to let Jim fuck him twice in one morning without bloody well earning it.<br>"Piss off. You know I hate Moran and I swear when Sherlock gets back I-" John's rant was cut off when the criminal's hand clenched round his jugular.  
>"You disobeyed me, pet." He growled. "I thought you knew better than that." The doctor felt his vision swimming as he struggled to take a breath.<p>

Just as John was about to pass out, the tension released and he sucked in air greedily, Moriarty's hand was still around his throat, threatening to squeeze again. The soldier knew exactly what the psychopath wanted. He wanted him to beg, to plead forgiveness, only this time it wasn't going to happen. John held Moriarty's gaze and forced himself to breathe through his nose. Jim raised an eyebrow.  
>"I'm waiting Johnny." He sing-songed shrilly.<br>"Then you'll be waiting a while. I've had enough, Jim. You don't respec-" The hand closed back round his windpipe and John stilled immediately. The Irishman was now glaring at him, the fury building up.  
>"Of course I don't respect you, I don't need to." He snapped harshly. His whole demeanour softened suddenly and he gently cupped John's cheek. "I need you, Johnny. I get restless when I'm not with you. I worry constantly about you. You're the key to my mental wellbeing but that doesn't mean you are worth of my respect."<p>

The doctor gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what Jim was saying, that he was more an object than a person.  
>"Well I won't apologise. I did nothing wrong and, God help me, I refuse to be bossed about by you any longer." Moriarty's hand inched back to John's neck but before it got there, the man was forcefully yanked away. The doctor realised that he'd been so focused on the criminal that he hadn't notice Sherlock enter.<br>"I think our lovely John has made himself quite clear, don't you? Why don't you leave? Before I wring your neck for bringing the filthy dregs of society into _my_ house." The detective growled darkly. Jim wasn't phased by his threatening in the slightest. He looked back to John then sighed.  
>"I'll be seeing you very soon then, darling. Daddy has work to do." With that, Moriarty slipped past Sherlock and walked out of the door in a swaying of hips.<p>

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><p>"Did he hurt you?" John blinked, and turned to Sherlock.<br>"Hmm?" He asked, wincing as he remembered how much his flatmate hated to repeat himself.  
>"Did. He. Hurt. You?" The detective repeated, punctuating each word. John subconsciously rubbed his neck.<br>"Not really, I've had worse." He replied. Sherlock grunted and removed the hands to get a good look at the doctors neck. It was bruised but it definitely wasn't the worst he'd seen on his partner. One time, a client had double crossed Moriarty and he flew into a rage. Of course, John was who he went to. The soldier had decided to spend the next week inside the flat, not going outside for anything. Even with an escort. Unfortunately, Lestrade got rather worried about him and came over to see if everything was okay. He nearly filed a domestic abuse report when he saw the damage to John. The doctor stopped him and said that he had been mugged, that it wasn't Sherlock. The DI didn't believe him in the slightest but when the doctor begged him not to do anything, he agreed on the basis that should it happen again he would not only file a report but make sure that it was followed through post haste and have Sherlock arrested. The soldier had nodded stiffly, still adamant that it wasn't Sherlock who had hurt him. Greg Lestrade knew about his and Sherlock's relationship, he just didn't know that John was still with that Jim fellow who was there when he burst in on a 'drugs bust' and that Jim was actually Moriarty (though he had had his suspicions about that for quite some time).

While reminiscing on all the reasons why he was going to murder Moriarty as soon as John was able to be without the bastard, Sherlock scrutinised every inch of John, cataloguing every slight bruise, every mark. He would make sure that each blemish on his partners skin did not go unpunished

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><p>.<p>

**AN- **Well first chapter is up! Happy days. I will try to update once a week.

B  
>x<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN-** And the next chapter is here! Yay!

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><p>"I want you to come with me." Sherlock stated, slipping into his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck. John blinked.<p>

"I thought you'd solved the case." He said dumbly. He had been allowed to get dressed in his own time, no throwing clothes at him and demanding that he was ready within the minute, so he thought that he would be able to just be with Sherlock for the day. The detective rolled his eyes.

"No. They were taking the body back to the Yard, I came to pick you up." He replied. John nodded, the case would always come first and he hadn't been dragged along since… Well for a very long time. It would be nice to watch Sherlock strut his stuff.

"Why are we still here then?" John asked with the beginnings of a crinkly-eyed grin. The detective's own grin was almost instant as he grasped the doctor's wrist firmly, with a slight wince as he hoped he hadn't bruised the doctor himself, before pulling the man out of the flat, hailing a cab the moment he stepped onto the pavement.

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><p>John felt a flicker of anticipation as he stood outside of Scotland Yard. If Sherlock felt the same thing, which was doubtful, he hid it well as he dragged his blogger through the doors. They were greeted almost immediately and joined on the walk down to the morgue by Lestrade, who peered at John with a gruff misdemeanour showing that he wasn't very happy about something. The soldier kept his eyes facing forward and prayed that the man had just had a bad day. He knew that this wasn't the case the moment they reached the entry to the morgue.<p>

"You go on ahead, Sherlock. I need to ask Dr Watson's opinion on something." Lestrade said calmly. Sherlock narrowed his eyes ever so slightly but did as asked, knowing that he would get his answers out of John later. The answers which needed explaining anyway, of which there were few.

The doctor watched his partner leave through the doors and instantly felt a chill, like he had taken all his clothes off. He felt vulnerable.

"Now John," The DI began, licking his lips nervously. "I know you can remember our last conversation, yes? Well I can't help but notice those bruises on your neck, the ones which look a lot like strangulation marks. Care to explain how they appeared on you?" He asked, expectant of a reply. John clenched his jaw.

"It wasn't Sherlock." He replied adamantly. Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Well who else would you allow to strangle you? You're a strong man, John, I don't doubt that you would be able to fight me off should you want to. I can help you, John. You just need to let me in." He pleaded. John sighed.

"It's not Sherlock." He repeated. "It's… someone else. I am not telling you who only that I know what I'm doing. Really, I'm fine. I suffered far worse than this." Lestrade was about to reply when a shout came from inside the morgue.

"John! Get in here now!" John heard the underlying layer of panic in the voice, though Greg only heard a dominating command which strengthened his belief and finalised his decision to check that the consulting detective wasn't attacking the good doctor.

Bursting into the room, John's eyes scanned until they fell upon Sherlock who shifted restlessly until the doctor was right by his side. Once in reach, the detective gripped his partner tightly round the waist and refused to let him go.

"What do you notice about this body?" He asked. John looked at the cadaver, the man had all the signs that he had suffered from hypothermia before death-whether it was the cause was uncertain. John shrugged.

"Seems like just an ordinary body." He replied, hypothermia wasn't _that_ uncommon, after all.

"I suppose you wouldn't have been able to see his face." Sherlock muttered. "It was designed for you not to see the people guarding you." The soldier froze.

"He was my guard?" John asked in a breathy whisper, unsure if they wanted the DI to hear them. Sherlock nodded and latched a hand onto the sheet covering the rest of its body.

"That's not the worst of it." He stated as he pulled the cover off to show the multitude of pre-death injuries that scarred the man's white skin. The man had been clothed in his uniform before being dumped so the scars hadn't been visible until they brought him back.

"Torture." John said numbly, his head swimming. The detective shook him lightly.

"It's not your fault." The doctor nodded, he knew rationally that it wasn't his fault he didn't harm this man and he certainly didn't kill him but that didn't stop the irrational guilt from squirming inside of him. _He's dead _because_ of you. _John gulped and fought to keep his expression level.

"There's nothing we can do." He realised, speaking his thoughts out loud. "We won't be able to trace this back to your brother and even if we had some sort of proof, we wouldn't be able to get him with it. Plus he's your brother-" Sherlock cut him off sharply.

"He's no brother of mine."

Sherlock told Lestrade that the man had obviously had a fall out with someone, probably due to the large amount of dept he owed to various shady characters. There was no way to tell conclusively which of these characters killed him or even which were involved. The DI was surprised to find that the consulting detective left it at that, not offering any other means of explanation as he dragged Dr Watson out of the room. The doctor shot Lestrade a look as he saw the clenched jaw. The inspector was still watching everything Sherlock did and grabbing his flatmate to drag him out was yet another thing on the list which would flag up on the list of warning signs. John knew the warning signs, he was a doctor after all.

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><p>On the walk back, Sherlock refused to take a cab for some reason- John gathered that there had to be a reason because Sherlock never did anything on a whim, they were tailed by a black car which John didn't even turn to see because he knew that should it be one of Mycroft's, he would mostly likely be frozen to the spot. He found it hard to even say the older siblings name so knowing he was being followed by… by <em>him <em>would send him over the edge. He was a soldier at heart and by God if he felt threatened by that bastard he would attack. At least by not turning around he could pretend that Jim had sent a car to trail after them, or perhaps a terrorist group who wanted some leverage with the government.

"John." Sherlock's voice was low, barely a whisper, and his mouth was parted so he could speak without moving his lips. "When I say run." The soldier stopped himself from tensing his legs and nodded his head ever so slightly. The detective grasped hold of his doctor's hand.

"Run."

They fled down back alleys and over fences, doubling back so many times that John wasn't quite sure where they were going half the time. When they came out in an alley way that John didn't even know existed about two minutes from the flat, the doctor had to bite back a laugh. It was beginning to feel just like their first case together, when Sherlock had dragged him up and down street after street to 'prove a point'. It seemed that the detective was thinking the same thing as he grinned like a lunatic, retrieving his key and fitting it into the lock. Inside the flat, they started laughing wildly, neither quite sure what was so funny. That was until Sherlock looked to see a man sat in a chair which faced the door, hands folded across his lap and an expression which was not in the least bit amused. Beside him, John gripped his hand tightly, trying to hide the utter dread which was coursing through his veins in the place of blood.

The doctor gulped and forced himself to walk forward, eyeing Sherlock as a sort of safety rope. Mycroft glared at the man for many moments before turning his attention to his younger sibling.

"I had hoped you would understand what I doing was for your benefit." The government official stated icily. "This creature is no good for you, I should never have let him come close." John bit his lip and tried to ignore the unwelcome visitor and more importantly the rage building up inside of him. Sherlock crossed the room in a matter of milliseconds and wrapped his arms around his partner possessively.

"No, you did it because you're a controlling bastard. I should have never let John near _you_. You were going to kill him! What did he do to warrant that?" The detective hissed. The corners of Mycroft's mouth flickered into a smirk then back out again.

"He went gallivanting off with Moriarty. Because of him, you can't focus on doing the right thing. You don't want to hurt your _precious_ John so you won't get rid of the man who will be the ruin of you. Though, at this point, there are two men who will be the ruin of you." He answered coldly.

"He was kidnapped."

"The first time, perhaps."

"Jim manipulates people."

"I can see that."

"He loves me." At this, the elder Holmes brother scoffed.

"Out of the two of you, who is in his bed more? And by that I don't mean sleep." He asked.

Sherlock didn't have an answer, he knew what his sibling was getting at but that bypassed the point entirely. John _loved_ him, he liked Moriarty at times-it was impossible not to have some good feelings for the man when he twisted himself into everything and made himself more important that the oxygen the blond soldier breathed. And besides, the scrapes on the doctor's wrists were enough to show that he didn't have a choice in what happened in the bed (and out of the bed) when the criminal was involved. Sherlock didn't have to restrain John. When they had sex, which wasn't as often-he'd grant-but that was because he didn't have as high a sex drive as most and they both knew that the case would always come before pleasure, it was mind-blowing. It was amazing and John seemed to know every single place which could send him into oblivion with his every nerve on fire and his skin tingling in the afterglow. He didn't have to have sex every eight hours, nor did he want to. John had stamina, it was true, but even he wouldn't be able to cope with two partners milking orgasms out of him any time they felt like it.

The soldier had somehow found the courage to speak.

"Moriarty likes to show he has possession of my body. Only Sherlock has custody of my heart, not that you'd care for anything like that. And how _dare_ you come into my home and treat me like an animal." The doctor seethed, he had now broken away from Sherlock and was standing with clenched fists, leaving the detective to marvel at the sudden change in character (he had expected it to take at least two more weeks before John was able to hear Mycroft's name without going into a panic attack). "Get out of my flat." The soldier demanded. Mycroft looked down his nose in disgust then turned his attention back to his younger brother.

"Sherlock, if you can't control your pet, at least keep him away from visitors. We wouldn't want to have him put down." He said. John blinked, trying to wipe away the rising fury. When it proved too difficult, he marched straight to where the elder Holmes sat and loomed over him.

"Get out or I will throw you out myself." John snarled, his neck muscles tensing as he spoke. Mycroft smirked and stood up, now towering over John.

"Don't presume that I am someone who can be physically manoeuvred, _doctor_." He retorted threateningly.

The government official walked passed him, stopping when he was in front of a still stunned Sherlock. He handed the detective an object then walked out of the door, closing it behind him. When Sherlock looked down, he realised that it was a leash with a small tag saying 'Keep it under control' handwritten in a cursive fashion along with a phone number that was later found to be the line to the local dog pound. One which still put animals down.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN- **Well here is the next chapter. I am sorry for any mistakes, it's been a busy week. If you do find any blaring errors then let me know. Enjoy!

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><p>John sank to the floor the moment the door closed behind the elder Holmes brother, he wrapped his arms round his body, hugging his knees tightly to his chest like he would fall to pieces if he didn't. Sherlock was by his side in an instant, texting Moriarty with one hand to make sure the criminal got back to the flat before John went to bed, not that the man was capable of going anywhere right at that moment in time, he was barely holding back the sobs. He had no idea why, a couple of moments ago he was in a haze of blind fury about to smash the bastards nose through his brain but now he felt like a lost child, not knowing which way to go or what to do.<p>

Once he had sent his text, the detective threw the phone onto the sofa and pulled John into a bone crushing hug, engulfing him and blocking out the rest of the world. Neither man spoke for an endless amount of time. Somewhere behind them, the door clicked then opened.

"Oh for the love of…" An Irish voice growled, followed by footsteps marching towards them. Sherlock was pulled off of John and the doctor was forced to stand. Moriarty eyed him from head to toe then shoved him down on the sofa before crawling onto his lap, effectively pinning him in place.

"I have had enough of this." He snapped. "Now you get a grip or so help me I will show you what it is like to be afraid. I will send you to the brink of death so many times that you will know the way to get there off by bloody heart." John blinked up at him, the words seeming to bounce straight off of him. Jim hissed in annoyance and slipped off the doctors waist, dragging the man behind him as he prowled into Sherlock's bedroom.

John let himself be towed into the room and forced down onto the bed. Jim hovered above him, glaring down at him like an avenging angel. The doctor held his gaze, only just, and he was thrown backwards by the criminal. Sherlock appeared in the doorway and Moriarty turned to him.

"Get out." He commanded. The detective, after hearing his earlier threats, made no move to do so. Jim shot a death glare at him. "Get out now. Daddy has work to do." Sherlock still didn't move. The Irishman rolled his eyes but when he spoke again his voice was softer. "I'm not going to hurt him." The taller male eyed his enemy suspiciously, it didn't look like he was lying but then he never was able to tell one hundred percent with the psychopath- though the man was impeccably truthful when it suited him. Sherlock looked over to John, still lying on the bed, he wanted- no, he _needed _his John back. They'd gone months now with very little change. The detective clenched his jaw and sent his nemesis a look which showed all the gruesome things which would happen to Jim should he go back on his word. The psychopath grinned brightly and wiggled his fingers in a wave. Sherlock stepped back out of the room and closed the door with a soft click, leaving John to face whatever Moriarty had planned for him.

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><p>When Sherlock had closed the door, Moriarty turned back to his willing captive and eyed him slowly.<p>

"This stupid cowardice stops now." He growled lowly, crawling forwards so that he was directly above the soldier. "I have had enough of coming in and finding you a wreck. Four times this month we've had to all sleep together. I thought you were getting better but there's a slight chill and you freeze to the fucking spot!" He snapped. John flinched and Jim cooled down immediately. "Don't worry though, pet. Daddy has got this sorted." He pulled out a phone identical to his own and handed it to the doctor. When John didn't grab it, he folded the man's hands round the object forcefully. The soldier sat up warily and flicked through the phone, he'd used Sherlock's enough to know how it worked. The contacts were filled with shady characters and black market personnel, as well as Jim's own personal mobile number. John raised an eyebrow as he wordlessly looked at his criminal lover. Moriarty grinned in return.

"Buckle up, Johnny-Boy. I'm bringing you into my big bad world, whether you like it or not."

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><p>Sherlock waited outside the room. Even with an ear pressed to the door, he wouldn't be able to tell what was being said. That didn't stop him from trying and gritting his teeth in frustration. He could hear Jim's voice but he couldn't make out what was being said. It was driving him insane. When had the world become such a mess? In his head, it was a jumble. Papers littered the floors of his mind palace. He shouldn't trust Moriarty, he should wipe him from the face of the earth. But if he did that then the damage to John might be irreparable. Still, the loss of one person against the ending of a wave chaos and destruction that stretched the entire globe. Then again, that one person was John and he had sworn that he would protect him, it was his own fault for John's involvement in all of this. So where did that leave Moriarty? While the doctor was at risk every moment he was with the man, he was also the most protected person on the face of the earth. There was the entire underworld to look out for him, and all that power should something happen to him. Sherlock clutched at his head. Why did everything have to be so complex? People are stupid and stupidity is so mind bogglingly complex that most didn't even bother to think about it. He couldn't even tell what he should do, never mind what he wanted to do. There was a sound which he knew better than anything, his head whipped round to face the door again. That sound was John. John moaning.<p>

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><p>Jim shuffled slightly and trailed his hands down the soldier's body. "I'm going to need you to moan now, pet." He stated before gripping the other man's cock. John gasped, unable to hold back the loud moan that erupted from his throat. Moriarty pulled away almost instantly, smirking to himself.<p>

"Wh-wh?" John tried to ask. Jim wasn't the type to do that without wanting to take it further. The consulting criminal smiled down at him.

"Sorry Sweetie, that was just to get Sherlock off my back. Now we can get back to business." John whimpered in reply and tried to calm his body down again, a feat which was hard enough at any time but damn near impossible when he was sat on a bed which he'd been fucked mercilessly on too many times to count. Jim clicked in his face.

"Attention up front, Johnny." He snapped before instantly calming again. "Now that you're mine, I think I should reap some of the other benefits." He stated, his eyes held the gaze of a predator, one which beckoned its prey to come and sit beside it. John was well and truly caught in that stare.

"Now we best get you ready, I have a meeting in half an hour."

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><p>About ten minutes later, the door opened and John was ushered out in an expensive suit which had been bought about four weeks ago. Sherlock felt arousal stir but he quickly pushed it aside. The doctor hated suits, he loathed them with every fibre of his being, but that didn't stop him looking like the epitome of sex while wearing one. Jim caught his expression and grinned darkly.<p>

"I'm taking Johnny for a walk. Don't wait up, Shirley darling." He cooed sweetly, an arm slinking round the soldier's waist. John scowled at the criminal then smiled apologetically at Sherlock.

"We'll be back soon." He promised. Jim snorted and began to guide him to the door, winking at the detective over his shoulder. As Sherlock watched them leave, he noted that John was almost back to his usual self.

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><p>Sebastian Moran greeted the two men at the door, though his expression bore nothing but hostility to Dr Watson. Jim sent him a testing glance and the hitman quickly covered up his facial expression. John found himself being lead down the corridors to the large living room, a room that John had hardly been in. Moran opened the door and held it for the two men to pass through then closed it with him still on the outside, he had had this job long enough to know that he was not welcome in this conversation. Inside, John followed the criminal, keeping his head high and his gaze fixed on Jim.<p>

They passed a small group of people who where sat at one end of a desk. Moriarty sat down in a chair opposite them and John stood beside him until the psychopath pulled a chair out and patted it. The doctor gritted his teeth then took his place next to the consulting criminal. On the other side to them, the group looked slightly confused. Moriarty smirked and placed a hand on the soldiers knee.

"Don't mind my pet here, now why have you requested my services?" He asked, his eyes still resting on John though his question was directed on the group. One man, young; early twenties, coughed and spoke up.

"We've got a small business ferrying drugs over the border between here and France. One of the guards who passes our crates through inspection as turned his back on us. He lost us and entire shipment and says that the next time, he'll turn us in. We need to get rid of him and install a new guard but we can't figure out how to do it." The rest of the group nodded in agreement. Moriarty rested back against his chair, he turned his head to John.

"So what do you think, dear?" He asked. The soldier only just stopped himself from glaring at the man.

"I think you're all insane." He replied bluntly.

Moriarty raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. The doctor hesitated, not wanting to carry on but knowing he had no choice.  
>"There is no way that you'll be able to replace that guard and to try would just alert everyone to your business and your blunder. Who would want to get anything from a company that can't even keep a hold of their members?" He paused for a moment. "You need to set up a new route, or several. I'd say to use the channel tunnel. Hide the drugs in family cars, in toys, bags, even in the car itself, then have families drive them across. You don't need to bribe guards and it's a lot less likely to attract the attention of the authorities, though you'll have to keep getting new cars to stop arousing suspicion." John finished, feeling absolutely awful inside but refusing to let it show. The group stared at him in disbelief. Jim smiled dangerously.<p>

"My wolf." He purred, trailing his fingers along the thigh they had rested on before.

The criminal then turned to his new clients.

"Well there is your advice. I can help set up this new business adventure, for a slice of the company profits of course." His eyes pierced into the man that had spoken and John knew that they were caught. The man nodded and then conversation was launched into facts and figures. The doctor let everything wash over him, he wasn't there. He was back with Sherlock solving crimes. They were laughing as the detective had just dragged him down every street of London to get away from an assassin the criminal had sent out to get rid of them. Fingers strummed against his thigh and he blinked, back in the room once again. The group were standing up, all smiles and thanks. Jim had his telltale smirk on his face, another captive trapped in his vast web, unable to escape even if they wanted to.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>Hey everybody! How's it going so far? This is just a heads up that this week is a very busy one. I'm at school thirteen hours a day, how do people cope doing this? It's going to kill me... Anyway, the next update might be a little late.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN-** Well I know I said I'd probably be late but... surprise! It's early instead. I realised that I won't be able to post on Monday due to not being anywhere near internet access (I'm already crying, how am I going to cope?!) so I've sorted this chapter out for you all. As always, let me know of any mistakes and I hope you enjoy.

B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>Once alone in the room, Moriarty turned to the doctor. John seemed to have a light back in his eyes, it was dull and barely visible but it was there. Jim grinned as he snaked an arm around the soldiers waist.<p>

"I think you'll make a brilliant consulting criminal." He cooed, using his other hand to tap John on the nose. The doctor gritted his teeth.

"I am not going to go into your job." He snapped. "It's bad enough I was brought here to play eye candy for you. I never want to be in one of your meetings ever again." Moriarty jumped up and down on the spot, clapping his hands. The doctor blinked, unsure where in his last sentence he had said something which the psychopath would have found good. The criminal flicked out his phone.

"It seems Shirley wants you for a case. A proper case, not just something to get you out of the house or away from me. I'll get Jeeves to give you a lift." He stated, not giving the doctor a choice in the matter. John rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Now let me get out of this bloody suit." He growled half-heartedly. Moriarty tutted with a shake of his head.

"Now now, Johnny, I think you look too good in that suit. You don't wear it anywhere near enough. Besides, Shirley wants you to keep it on." John was ushered out of the room and into the awaiting car before he could even think of a reply.

* * *

><p>On the way, John twirled his fingers on the condensation of the window pane. It was crazy, the look that Moriarty had given him. He thought back over what he had said and sudden realisation hit him. He had stood up for himself. That was what the criminal was so happy about. Which was worrying as Jim had a thing for him being entirely helpless. John guessed that the consulting criminal didn't like it when his prey was too easy to catch. He looked out of the window and saw the police cars outside a small, rundown flat. The car pulled up and he heard the locks click open. Jeeves, the driver, got out and opened the door for him. He stepped, much to the awe of the police officers who stood watching him, out and straightened out his suit. Sherlock was waiting with a slightly flushed expression, one which said he was desperately trying gain control of his body. The doctor smiled slightly and walked with slow deliberation to his partner.<p>

"You owe me." He murmured lowly before walking through the door. Sherlock nodded, red blush now clear on his high cheeks.

* * *

><p>Inside, Lestrade turned with a mirrored expression to every other police officer they passed, bar a few who looked in appraisal and wishing they had got in there sooner to ask the doctor if he was taken. The DI stood dumbstruck for a few moments then shook himself and spoke.<p>

"So what's the special occasion?" He asked politely. John rolled his eyes.

"My annoying genius finally wormed his way into getting it me then demanded I wear it." He replied. Greg gave Sherlock a look, the detective looked through the door into the room where he knew the corpse was lying, John was clearly feeling much better but Sherlock still didn't feel right about something. The doctor had his spark back, his hand wasn't shaking, but something was different. The annoying thing was that he couldn't quite place what it was that that had changed and not knowing was driving him insane. He grabbed the soldiers arm and dragged him away from the DI before the man could pry any further and pushed him into the crime scene.

The stench was almost overpowering. Almost. Which meant that the corpse had been lying there for well over two days. John turned to Sherlock, the man was already prancing about the place so this was definitely a proper case. The detective scanned every minute detail of the room, while slipping on a pair of gloves he pulled from his coat pocket, then he looked over at John with wild eyes burning.

"Well go on then," He yipped, practically vibrating with anticipation, "Go do your doctor-y stuff on the body." The soldier rolled his eyes, trying to stop the grin from forming on his face. He knelt beside the body, a male in his forty's at a guess. It was hard to tell at first glance what had kill him but on opening the mouth, the doctor had his answer.

"He was poisoned." John stated, looking up to his partner. Sherlock smiled dangerously smugly. Of course he would already have known that. The soldier folded his arms. 'I know you're dying to tell us how you figured it out.' He pushed, not actually asking Sherlock to tell him but knowing the man was going to use it as an excuse to anyway. The detective rocketed into his deductions, John tried his best to keep up but he fell out of sink somewhere around 'unhinged cupboard door'.

The detective soon realised that the doctor wasn't taking in what he said and was about to stop before deciding that he would just explain it in simpler terms when they got back to the flat, John wouldn't appreciate being singled out in front of the Yard. Besides, they didn't understand it anyway and he was damned if he was going to shine a little light on their vast void of ignorance, the shock of it might just kill them all and he definitely didn't want to ask help for covering up bodies again, Moriarty was still holding him on the last time they had a body to hide.

Sherlock skirted around the room one last time before turning back to the DI, barking out where they would find the killer- a young man who wanted to see if the stuff he bought actually worked before using it on his very suspicious wife. Lestrade, just glad to have this case out of the way, nodded and sent a group of officers almost immediately. Before Sherlock had a chance to leave, the DI was stood in front of him. John felt a chill in his blood and he shook his head slowly but the greying detective paid him no heed.

"Sherlock, I can't help but notice that John keeps appearing with strange bruises. Now even had many conversations about the origin of these and I'm still not sure that he's being entirely truthful with me." Sherlock glanced at Lestrade.

"You think that I'm abusing John." He stated, annoyed that the male was even speaking to him.

"Basically, yes. It's not right to see a good man beaten and strangled and still walking around like it's nothing. Hell, it's not right to see anyone like that." Greg answered bluntly. The taller male barked out a humourless laugh.

"Do you really think I would?" Sherlock asked. "I hate contact with the rest of this plebeian race to begin with, do you really think I would waste time to injure my only friend?" Behind him, John scowled. He was fighting not to go over there and telling the DI that next time he butt in his nose was going to be yanked off his face.

"I honestly don't know, Sherlock. What I do know is that John is constantly attracting bruises."

"We have dangerous jobs, always chasing criminals."

"More like being chased by them." The doctor huffed, earning him a smirk from his flatmate.

"Can you be serious for just one minute?" Greg Lestrade asked, "I don't think that you chase criminals every night." Sherlock was about to reply but the DI silenced him with a hand. "I don't want to hear excuses. One more time, Sherlock. If I once more find bruises, cuts or fractures on John which weren't as part of the job I will be coming for you." John growled, grabbing the Yarder's attention.

"It wasn't him. I won't tell you again." His tone was low but not quite threatening. Greg gave him a sharp look then walked out. After a few moments, the soldier worked up the courage to look at Sherlock. The detective was staring intently at him but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"No more, John. Greg's right. This shouldn't happen, no matter who's doing it."

* * *

><p>Back at the flat, John was surprised to see he had a visitor. Steve smiled jauntily and grasped him in a strong hug.<p>

"John!" He cried happily. "I swear you're the hardest man in the universe to find.' He chuckled. 'This is the fifth time I've tried to get a hold of you. Still, you're here now. Mrs Hudson is the nicest woman in the world, by God-" The rambling continued for a good few minutes before the man finally got onto the reason he was there. 'I made the rounds with the lads and they all said yes to meeting up. We woz wondering when ya think would be a good day?' He asked cheerfully. Sherlock scowled at the unwanted visitor. John gave him a warning glance before putting on his best smile.

"Great, you know what? I could do with a pint or seven after the day I've had. Can you call round and sort it for tonight, any pub will do." He replied, feeling the scowl of his flatmate turning into a livid stare of hatred which was now directed at him. Steve smiled brightly and patted him on the shoulder, the good one but that was more out of luck than actually paying attention to what he was doing.

"Good man! I'll get the gang, we'll pick you up about seven, yeh?" He asked. John smiled and nodded.

"Yeh, that sounds great. See you later, Steve." The large man bundled out of the door with an almost skip in his step. The doctor watched him leave with a chuckle on his lips.

"Why are you going out?" Sherlock questioned, John sighed at the sulky tone of his flatmates voice. This was not going to go well.

"Because, oddly enough, I do need to have some time with people who aren't you or Jim. I've spent the last Lord knows how many months not out of the combined sight of you two. At least give me one night every now and again." He answered, keeping his voice calm.

"But… I was going to spend the evening with you. We'd be with Moriarty till later so we could do what we liked. I was going to lock the bedroom so he couldn't get in." Sherlock whined.

"Did you ask me about any of this, I think not." The doctor realised how harsh that sounded and added, "Besides, you know I wouldn't be having sex tonight, not after this morning. I'm still recovering from that, by the way." The thinly disguised argument was briefly abated.

It took all of three minutes for Sherlock to start it back up again though.

"Do you hate me?" A sully voice asked. John turned to the pouting features of his flatmate and rolled his eyes.

"We are not doing this." He stated, pushing past the sulking man. Sherlock grasped him by the arm.

"Why? Because you don't have the time?" He snapped. John grit his teeth.

"No, because I am not going to have this argument with you. Or Moriarty, for that matter. Steve is my friend and God help me, I need some normality. I am going to the pub tonight. If you or Jim follow me I won't be touching either of you for a month. Got that?" Without waiting for a reply, the soldier marched up the stairs. Sherlock watched him leave with a growing dread, he was beginning to see what had changed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>Well that's it for another week, we should be back to normal come next Monday.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the trouble with Sherlock, John still managed to find himself sat at a table in a pub with a growing number of empty pint glasses appearing miraculously in front of him and his four army mates. Steve raised his recently filled pint glass in the traditional toasting fashion, which was joined by the others at the table. Conner and Jed Wrightly were brothers both tall with dark hair. Only Conner had blue eyes and Jed had green. Tim was of a similar build to John, though with paler skin and pitch black hair. Steve was the burly man, strong and large in every meaning of the word but kind. To those that had earned it, anyway.

"So John, how's life on the other side of the street?" Tim asked, he had always been blunt. Which was a skill he somehow used to attract girl after girl while on breaks from the front line. Of course, they never lasted very long as being faithful wasn't one of Tim's skills. He was a loyal friend though, one of the best to have guarding your back. John laughed.

"I'm not on the other side of the street. I… Uh… Ah." There was an eruption of laughter from the lads has John grumbled half-heartedly.

"Don't worry John, we've all been there. What I want to know it what's it like with two blokes. I mean how does that work?" Steve asked.

There was a surprised glance from two of the men at the table. Obviously, Steve had told them all that John 'batted for the other team' but he'd probably left it at that. Conner, one who had given a surprised glance spoke up.

"Two men? How is that even possible?" He questioned. John sighed, well he'd best get this section of conversation over with. He knew it would come up at some point anyway.

"Look, I don't slee- well I don't have sex with them both at the same time. They hate each other. I think that if it were not for me they'd have killed each other already. It's just that they both want me enough that they put up with each other. But my word is it straining. It's a good thing that Sherlock isn't always after sex because I think I would have died by now." He chuckled quietly to himself.

"So the other one is then?" Jed asked jokily. The blond doctor gave him a glance.

"He's a fucking menace." John replied. "I can't keep the bastard off of me." Tim laughed.

"Well, you were always a hit with the girls. It seems you've got the same luck with the fellas if what I've heard about this Sherlock is true. Good thing that this aint a gay bar or we'd be fighting the mob." This time the rest of the table couldn't help but join in with his laughter, including John.

"It would be for their own protection." John added. "Sherlock and Jim would murder anyone else who tried to get with me."

This raised an eyebrow or two.

"Well they're both extremely protective… Actually I don't have any idea why they put up with each other. Not that I'm ungrateful, I'd hate to see what would happen should one decide they're through with sharing.." John physically shivered and downed the remainder of his pint. Though his mates looked as if they wanted to continue the onslaught of questions, John finishing his pint was his way over saying 'conversation over'.

"Right then," The doctor stated, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Whose buying the next round?"

* * *

><p>When John finally got home, at around three the following morning, Sherlock was sat on the sofa waiting for him. The taller male had his arms folded and a piercing gaze which he fixed onto his flatmate.<p>

"You said you'd be home by two." The man stated. John groaned, there were many things he'd expected but this wasn't one of them.

"Please Sherlock, just let me go to bed. You can do this tomorrow. You can do this for the rest of the week, just not now." He answered. It seemed that this wasn't good enough for the consulting detective.

"You said you'd be back by two. I texted you and you didn't answer. I rang you and do you know what I found? Your phone by my bedside. What if you got attacked, kidnapped? You could have been bleeding on the floor and I couldn't reach you." Sherlock was now up and pacing the floor.

"If that happened, which it didn't, I do have a phone on me." He answered, very articulated for a man who had drank more pints than he technically should have.

To prove his point, he drew out the phone Jim had given him.  
>"See. It has your number and it has Jims and a load of shady characters that I don't even know why I haven't deleted yet. And it probably has some kind of tracking device. So stop throwing such a hissy fit and let me go to bed. Jesus Christ, what does a man have to do to get some sleep around here?" John asked, annoyed. Sherlock stood frozen to the spot and John saw this as an invitation for him to go into the bedroom.<p>

"I'm gonna sleep on your bed. I suppose it's mine too. I use it more than you do. If you come to bed try not to wake me. Thanks love." The doctor grabbed his flatmate and kissed him hard on the lips then totted over to the bedroom, only stumbling once as he tried to pocket the phone at the same time as taking a step.

* * *

><p>The next morning, John groaned within two seconds of becoming conscious. He blinked away the blinding light and rolled over to see a glass of water and two paracetamol on the table beside him. Smiling, he swallowed the pills with a swig of water and made his way into the bathroom, sidestepping the pile of his clothes which had been neatly dumped into a mountain on the floor.<p>

Feeling refreshed and trying to make sense of the hazy blur of the night before, John strolled into the living room. Sherlock was sat at the dining room table, looking like he hadn't moved all night.

"Oh God, what did I do?" John asked, suddenly worried. His detective boyfriend glared at him and flipped out a phone. The doctor gasped when he realised it was the one that Jim had given him. The one he'd decided he wouldn't let Sherlock know he had for precisely this reason.

"He gave you a phone." The detective growled. "A phone with contacts to just about every person I have tried to keep away from you since we met. There are even the personal numbers of a few mafia bosses in here. Why on earth would you keep it? More to the point, why didn't you tell me?" The detective kept a firm grip on his newly acquired item.

"Well Jim gave it to me, how was I supposed to get rid of it? And this here is the exact reason. You must have gone through my clothes. I've told you about going through my stuff, Sherlock." John answered, riling himself up for one big fight, get everything out in this and limit the damage.

"Well you waved the damn thing in my face!" Sherlock cried out indignantly. "You took this blasted thing but you didn't take your own. You didn't take the one that I could reach."

"Of course I didn't. Every time I've taken _my _phone to a date or night out, you bloody well call me. Or text me. Or find a way to track me so you can tag along! Every time, Sherlock. Every single time. I just wanted one night where I didn't have to worry about if I was going to have to take a call or find you bounding up to me. One normal, simple night out. That was all I was asking for. The doctor bit back. His flatmate shuffled backwards, wounded by the harsh words. John sighed, it was exactly like arguing with a woman. Sherlock somehow managed to flip the argument to make John say he was sorry even though everything had come about because Sherlock was being insufferable. It seemed that some things you just couldn't get out of, no matter if you were gay or straight. The doctor sighed and moved to put the kettle on.

As he came back with two cups of tea, Sherlock had taken himself and was now sat in John's chair with his knees up under his chin. The soldier sighed and placed the cup down on the table beside his chair then wandered back to bring the third cup. No sooner had he picked up the item did Moriarty waltz through the door. The doctor sighed again and handed him the tea silently then shuffled to sit on the sofa. Jim raised an eyebrow and followed. He took a quick scan of the room and whipped round to face Sherlock.

"Give Johnny his phone back, dear." He ordered sweetly. The detective growled at him but didn't make any efforts to move. The criminal turned back to John.

"Drink you tea up quickly, Sweetie, we're going out." He cooed. Sherlock stood up immediately and handed the phone back to John.

"You take your own phone as well." He hissed. The doctor nodded, he'd already picked that one up.

Jim had already downed his cup of tea, a worrying prospect as it was still scaldingly hot, and was now waiting expectantly for the doctor to finish his own. John rolled his eyes and placed the remained of his tea on the coffee table, picking up a newspaper and placing it on his lap. He then held it open with one hand and used the other to pick up his tea again. The waiting criminal gritted his teeth.

"You know that I like to read the news while drinking my tea in the morning." John stated, not looking up from his paper. The next sound to be heard was the ringing of Sherlock's laughter. Proper laughter which John hadn't heard for a very long time. He blinked, surprised that the man had found it funny enough to emerge out of his night-long strop. Jim gritted his teeth which only stirred the detective further. The laughter proved infection as soon John couldn't help but chuckle into his cup of tea.

* * *

><p>The tea ended far too quickly and John was soon dragged out of the room. Jim had a look of fury plastered to his face. The doctor let himself be towed for a couple of minutes before he spoke.<p>

"So no suit this time then." He stated. Jim shook his head, though the criminal himself was wearing a suit, he hadn't forced John into one. They rounded another corner and then got picked up by a cab, again not the sleek car that the soldier had expected. He was about to ask what the hell they were doing but with Moriarty in the mood he was in, if there was an answer, John knew he wasn't going to like it. If he got an answer at all, that was. The cab parked and they got out, walking a little way down another street then into a block of flats. John was beginning to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The consulting criminal smiled ruefully and showed a flash of white teeth.

The two men walked up a few flights of stairs before stopping at a rather uninspiring door on the third floor. John stood patiently and waited while Jim took out a key and slipped it in the lock. When the door was opened, the doctor hesitated, knowing that he most likely wasn't going to like what happened to him when he passed through this threshold. There was a flicker of anger on the criminals face and he stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Inside, the room was completely different. Though the corridor leading to the door was drab and not maintained, the rest of the flat was tastefully (and expensively) decorated. John decided it was best not to look at what the bedroom was like, mostly because he was scared about what he would see. The kettle whistled, bringing the doctor out of his thoughts. He turned to see Jim sat on one of the elegant sofas.<p>

"Well go on, dear. I'm dying for a cuppa." He purred. The doctor rolled his eyes and followed the screaming until he got to the kitchen and switched the kettle off.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>Well that's it for another week. As always, reviews are loved and message if you find any mistakes. Or if you have any questions.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN- **Hello again! It's that time of the week. Let me know what you think.

B  
>X<p>

* * *

><p>"Johnny Boy." John tried to ignore the shrill call of the consulting criminal. "Oh Johnny!" He wished he had the choice not to follow that voice, he really did. It was far too early in the morning for this stuff. Then again, he could easily fight the man off if he wanted to. The soldier just didn't have the will to do it. He reasoned that it was so that the criminal didn't kill him and Sherlock and everything they hold dear but that was only an excuse. There were many times that he could have ended this madness already, Moriarty could be long dead by now, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He had feelings for the consulting criminal and, even if it wasn't as strong as his feelings for Sherlock, it was enough to halt his moves to murder the man. Heaving a sigh, John followed the direction he'd heard the voice coming from and stepped into the bedroom.<p>

* * *

><p>The bed was, as expected, large with bars at each end which made bondage that much easier. It had soft linen bed sheets which looked extremely expensive and certain consulting criminal on top of them with his suit jacket off, as well as his shoes and socks, as well as the top three buttons of his shirt undone suggestively.<p>

"Come on, Johnny. Over here." He called. The doctor moved and stood in front of him, waiting for the bastard to pounce on him or try to rip his clothes off or something. Moriarty did none of those things. Instead he stood up and draped his arms over John's shoulders, pressing their bodies flush together.

"It has occurred to me that we have never had a role reversal." He stated seductively. "I think it's about time you did some of the work, Johnny Boy." His voice was now little more than a whisper. The doctor's eyes bulged.

"I…Y… What?" He asked, unable to get a coherent sentence out. Jim smiled and undressed himself slowly before doing the same with John.

Had the soldier not known Moriarty, he would have thought the man was being gentle but he knew he was being stupid. Jim and gentle didn't cohabit the same sentence. Unless he wanted something. And that would mean he was acting. So far, John had let the other male undress him but the last thought made him stop.

"No." The word was as firm as he could manage. Moriarty stilled instantly.

"Why?" He questioned, his voice clipped as he was boarding anger again. John waved his hands for a bit, finding where best to put them before giving in and resting them on the criminals hips.

"Because you're only like this when you're acting and God help me, I don't want you acting. I can deal with the rough sex, I can deal with you attacking me. But I can't bare to think your acting. Then it's not me and you, it's me and whoever you're pretending to be at the moment. So scream at me and throw me into a wall or whatever but don't do this." The doctor removed his hands from where they rested on the Irishman and moved them to his side, waiting for the other male to respond.

* * *

><p>Suddenly, he was dragged forward onto the bed so he fell on top of Moriarty. The criminal removed the remainder of John's clothes then flipped them so he was on top. Below him, the doctor was wide-eyed, his brain still in the process of catching up to him. Perfect. Jim lined himself up and sank down. John groaned and rolled his hips up, pressing further into the criminal. It was at that point that his mind wandered back to him.<p>

"Jim!" He gasped. "What the fuck are you doing?" Above him, the Cheshire cat smiled darkly.

"I want you to fuck me and you will fuck me." He replied, removing himself completely from John's now completely hard member then sheathing the doctor once again. The blond gasped and threw his head back, narrowly avoiding the metal bars at the top of the bed.

"Oh God." Was the only words that came out of his mouth. Moriarty flipped them again, tightening a hand around John's neck.

"Right then. I want you to fuck me and if I think you aren't giving me everything you will not be leaving this room for the rest of the day." He snapped. The doctor blinked, trying to work out what the hell was happening, the lack of oxygen to his brain was quickly making such things impossible and he grunted, repositioning himself so he could get a grip on the rail at the head of the bed. Jim grinned below him and dragged his fingers down the soldiers bare chest, leaving angry red marks in his wake. John started slowly, not wanting to hurt the criminal. Moriarty scowled at him and he started pistoning into the male as hard as he could. The Irishman mewled, John grinned and there was a look in the other males eyes which said _'If you ever bring that up again I will gut you and hang you by your intestines' _but that only made the doctor grin more. His amusement didn't last long though as they flipped again so Jim was now on top.

The man sank down so that John's member was entirely inside him then didn't move. Instead he pinned the doctor's arms above his head and clamped his thighs around the man. John tried desperately to get some sort of friction but it was denied.

"Don't get complacent, Johnny." Moriarty snarled. "I'm still the one in charge." There were many witty comebacks that John could have said but right at that moment, his head was so clouded that all his lips could do was beg.

"Oh God, please. Ahh, Jim, please. Move." He almost sobbed. It wasn't enough for the criminal.

"Who's in charge?" He asked forcefully.

"You, God you. Please Jim." The doctor babbled, giving in completely. Jim chuckled and pecked a kiss on his cheek.

"And don't you forget it." He purred, moving his hands away and allowing them to flip over again.

John's mind hazed as he pounded into the man underneath him. Jim now had a leg slung over the soldiers' shoulder, his bad one but neither man seemed to realise it. The doctor slammed hard into the criminal, pumping the other mans' member in rhythm with his thrusts.

"Ah, Jim. Ah, I'm. Oh." The pressure raised and John was unable to finish his sentence, he was unable to remember what he had been saying. Jim suddenly leaned forward and latch onto John's neck, singing his teeth in and clamping down hard. The doctor screamed as he climaxed. Moriarty clenched and followed him over the edge, hissing into the other males skin which he still clung to. John slumped down on top of Moriarty, gingerly pulling himself out. Jim wrapped his arms around the soldier and clung tight.

* * *

><p>"Uh, Jim?" John asked. "You can stop biting me now." The criminal chuckled shrilly and let go. John rubbed his neck absently, wincing. That mark was going to last at least a week. It was a good think people weren't very observant or they'd know that the bite marks on his neck didn't match up with Sherlock's jaw.<p>

His eyes were lidded with exhaustion, though he really shouldn't be this tired. Jim had wrapped himself around John and was now, for want of a better word, snuggling in the crook of his neck.

"So what brought this on?" The soldier asked, hoping that Jim was in his normal post-cordial bliss. The criminal smiled, almost doe-eyed.

"Back when I brought you along to those imbecilic _smugglers._" He answered with distaste. "I can't believe so many people underestimate you. Had Sherlock not called, I would have had you right there and then but I'm rather glad I waited, as it is." The voice was now a soft hum. John nodded, well trust the consulting criminal to have that as his reason.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to play pet for you every time you have a client." He answered sleepily. Moriarty snorted and pulled the covers up around them, not bothering to argue with the doctor, it wasn't like the man really had a say in anything anyway.

* * *

><p>An unknown amount of time later, John woke up and rubbed his eyes, the sunlight waning outside. He was about to sit up when he realised that his back was pressed tightly to Moriarty's chest. There was no way he could move without waking the other male. John thought about moving anyway but he had no idea how much sleep the criminal had gotten. Always a doctor, John didn't want to think that he had stopped Jim from having the only sleep in a week, which he had accidentally done once already.<p>

"Oh Johnny, you're so sweet." The man behind him cooed. The doctor turned round to see the hooded eyes of his dark haired partner.

"What time is it?" He asked, rolling his protesting bad shoulder with a groan.

"Hmm… About four in the afternoon, we've been asleep a while." Moriarty answered, trailing his fingers over the bite mark he made a several hours earlier. "You might want to get something for that bite." He chuckled. John's hand flew up to his neck and he searched for a mirror.

When he found one, he peered at his neck and groaned in disbelief.

"Come on, Jim." He whined. "I've already got Lestrade on my back, this is not going to help me." Moriarty chuckled.

"Does the darling DI think poor Johnny is being beaten at home?" He cooed jokily. John huffed a laugh.  
>"I <em>am<em> being beaten at home." He replied. "It's just that Lestrade thinks that Sherlock's the one doing it. And no, that does not me that you can suddenly appear and beat me up in front of him." At the last sentence, Jim smiled darkly. The familiar cold chill retook it's place on the back of the soldiers neck and he shivered. That particular look on the criminals face could only mean something bad was going to happen. John bit his lip and searched the room for some savalon (or any antiseptic cream) to cover the bite. When he couldn't find any, he turned to Jim who was throwing and catching a small tube with a wicked grin.

"Oh." He said innocently. "Were you looking for this?" The doctor scowled at him and reached for the tube but it was whisked away. "Ah ah ah, turn round and I'll put it on." The criminal stated.

The blond, scowl was still firmly in place, turned his back on his partner and allowed him access to the savage mark on his neck. Cool fingers rubbed the greasy substance into his skin with an almost gentle nature. Once the cream had sunk in, the criminal swiftly moved to remove the left over from his hands, washing them thoroughly.

"Well Johnny, Shirley called while you were zoned out. He they have him locked in a cell at Scotland Yard. Something about domestic abuse charges." John leapt to the pile of his clothing on the floor.

"Shit! I swear I'm going to murder Lestrade." He growled, shoving the shirt over his head and ramming his legs into the trousers. Jim returned from the bathroom fully dressed, his new suit more casual, black trousers and a pale blue shirt. This one was without a jacket.

"Come on then, Sweetie," Moriarty cooed. "Let's go break Shirley out of prison."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN- **And here we are again. Sorry about the cliffhanger from last week. Actually, I'm not. But if it makes you feel better then I apologise. Enjoy.  
>B<br>x

* * *

><p>"No. Absolutely not." John was adamant, he'd let Moriarty ride in the cab with him to the Yard but there was no way in hell he was going to let the man walk in there.<p>

"You know you don't really have a say in this." Jim cooed, sweeping a strand of John's hair behind his ear. The doctor turned as much as he could in the confines of the cab so he could face his partner properly.

"No. You are not going in there. I will go in and get Sherlock out and try my absolute hardest not to murder Lestrade. You will stay out here where I know that you are not going to get caught by the Yard and the Yarders aren't going to get murdered by you. Stay. Here." Without waiting for a reply, John slid out of the cab and walked into Scotland Yard, a silent fury building up inside him.

* * *

><p>He was met almost immediately by the sneering Sergeant Donavan and the forensic detective, Anderson.<p>

"I told you to keep away from him." Sally quipped. Anderson sniggered.

"The Freak wouldn't know where to begin, I bet his pet wanted to be thrown about, probably begged for it." He retorted. The two officers broke into a fit of giggles. John glared at them both and marched straight past, heading for DI Lestrades office.

* * *

><p>Greg looked up from his desk as John Watson stormed in, he had hoped it would have taken a little longer for the doctor to realise that they had taken in the detective, just long enough that they could find a little more substantial evidence that it was him committing the crimes.<p>

"Let him out. Now." John's voice was dark and foreboding. The DI sighed and stood up from his desk.

"Look John." He stated. "It's for the best, I've seen too many people fall down this hole. You don't have to put up with it, John." His voice was pleading for the doctor not to argue but it was in vain.

"I'm not dead yet, Lestrade, and I have told you that it's not Sherlock. I will swear in court that it's not Sherlock. Let. Him. Go." The detective inspector walked round so that he was in front of the desk, closer to John but still over arms distance away.

"Look, it only takes on time. It looks as though you've been pushed into a fair amount of walls, what if you get pushed down the stairs. Broken bones, you could die, John. You say you're not dead yet but you could be tomorrow. You could be later on today-" There was a commotion outside. John felt his blood run cold, he knew exactly what the commotion was, though he wished an axe murderer had ran inside instead.

* * *

><p>John and Lestrade stepped out of the office.<p>

"Johnny, there you are." Jim's high voice and faux smile cut through every person in the room. "After I told you not to come here, you still do. And I thought I had you trained." John felt the DI still beside him.

"I know how childish this sound but I told you so." John hissed. The Irishman cocked his head, smirk still plastered on his face.

"Johnny, I'm waiting." He called. The doctor felt the entire room staring at him. He swallowed his pride and walked forward until he was stood in front of his partner. The soldier stayed standing, glaring defiantly into Jim's eyes, or more correctly into the black abyss behind them.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten your place already, Johnny." The dark haired man growled. John almost collapsed to his knees, hitting the floor slightly harder than he wanted to. "That's better." He hummed.

Jim was suddenly aware of the people moving behind him. "I wouldn't try sneaking up on me if I were you." He stated coldly, whipping out a small pocket knife and placing the blade to John's neck, right on top of the artery. "One move and this doctor is a bloody heap on the floor." John wanted desperately to look up to Moriarty but he dutifully kept his eyes to the ground, he knew the criminal would show no hesitation in punishing him for stepping out of line, even if it was just an act. Around them, all weapons were dropped and the officers stepped back so they were all against the wall. Jim's smile flickered and he removed the knife, placing it back in his pocket.

"I do believe they have no reason to keep your darling Shirley in shackles. That is a shame." He trailed a finger under John's chin, raising the doctors head so he now looked at his face. "I'm sure you can make it up to me, though." Jim chuckled. The blond doctor gulped, he heard the truth behind that last sentence.

"Jim, please." He begged quietly.

Moriarty chuckled again and let his fingers slide off the other males' face. He then turned to the detective inspector.

"Go release Shirley." He ordered. The DI held his ground all of two seconds before quickly leaving. Jim watched him leave then dragged John to his feet by his hair.

"We best go before the backup arrives, do you think?" He purred, pecking a kiss on the doctors nose. John hesitate and Jim scowled.

"Your precious Shirley will be let out, I think Scotland Yard knows I don't take kindly to disobedience. Come on." He turned on the balls of his feet and exited the room. The doctor followed after him, his limp becoming more pronounced as his leg protest from being thrown to the ground.

* * *

><p>The cab ride back to 221b was completely silent, John sat pressed against the door, as far away from Moriarty as possible. When they reached the flat, John got out and walked straight up into the house without waiting for the criminal. By the time Jim got inside, the doctor was in his room with the door locked. After spending two minutes picking the lock, the Irishman found out that John had gone and put a sliding lock on his side of the door as well, a lock which couldn't be picked. He scowled in annoyance and rapped his knuckles on the door.<p>

"Johnny? Johnny, let me in please." There was no answer. The criminal paced for a few moments then tried again. "Johnny? Don't sulk, I got Sherlock freed didn't I? They won't be thinking you're being beaten up by him anymore." Still no reply. 'Answer me or I'm breaking this door down!' He threatened.

* * *

><p>Finally, the consulting criminal lost his patience entirely and kicked the door hard, forcing it open. John was nowhere to be seen. On closer inspection, the window was thrown open wide. Jim swore profoundly. He'd been duped by the same escape twice. Growling about how he was going to bolt that window then board it up from the outside, the criminal ran downstairs. He was about to walk out the door when he realised that Sherlock's bedroom door was closed though when he'd past it earlier it had been open just a crack. Jim crept over and opened the door. Two figures lay on the bed, wrapped in the covers.<p>

"Go away." A deep voice murmured lowly. Jim blinked, surely the detective couldn't have gotten back so quickly. Sherlock raised his head, soon followed by John, they both looked over at the criminal.

"I don't interrupt you when you're fucking John, I'd appreciate the same courtesy, thank you." Sherlock growled. Moriarty blinked, he thought it would take a little longer than three and a half minutes for both Sherlock and John to get into the bedroom, undressed and in the bed.

"You got Sherlock out before going to the DI." Jim accused the doctor. John shrugged.

"Of course I did, I knew Lestrade wasn't going to let him out and it was only a matter of time before you burst in, so I went and got Sherlock first. You're both right, you know. Scotland Yard security is shit." After speaking, the soldier dived back under the covers. Sherlock gave Jim a smug glance and followed him. Moriarty thought about staying for a moment then walked out, he didn't want to see John with his rival in that way. Ever.

* * *

><p>As soon as the consulting criminal left the room, John and Sherlock came back up from beneath the covers.<p>

"Well that got rid of him." John sighed. Sherlock thought for a moment then began trailing his hands over the doctors skin.

"You know, it would be a shame to waste this time." He murmured. John shivered and shifted away slightly. The detective quickly removed his hand, looking rejected.

"No no, It's not like that!" John said quickly, grabbing hold of Sherlock's arm. "I just, I mean after this morning, I just don't think I have another round in me." He explained. Sherlock nodded, the one time he wanted this, Jim had stopped him from having it. Then again, the criminal would just take, he didn't care if John had 'another round' in him or not.

"I'm not going out tonight though." John stated, twirling his fingers on the bed sheets. "If you could keep Jim away from me long enough, we can spend the night." He suggested. Sherlock smiled crookedly.

"And the following day?" He asked, giving his best puppy dog expression. The soldier chuckled and ran his hand through his flatmates dark, curly hair.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>About an hour later, John remerged from the bed room with Sherlock close on his heels, watching over him like a hawk. Jim walked over and tried to slink an arm around the doctor but Sherlock batted it away.<p>

"He is mine of the rest of today and the whole of tomorrow at least. You've had him to yourself for the best part of the last month and a half." The detective snapped, wrapping his arms around John's chest from behind. His criminal enemy scowled at him.

"It's not my fault you've had cases. Do you want me to just leave Johnny by himself when you're off shining your brilliance on the world?" He snapped in disgust.

"No, I just don't want you screwing him every chance you get. He's not your personal fuck toy!" Sherlock shrieked back.

John sighed, trapped between the bickering men.

"Seriously guys." The doctor called, his arms still pinned to his sides by Sherlock behind him. "Just cool it, will you? I know that neither of you are good at sharing but for Gods sake, sort this out like adults." Jim scoffed and Sherlock snarled at him, moving John away from the criminal even more.

"I'm serious." John warned. "You two sort this out now or I'm going to go and visit my mother for a week or several." Sherlock froze behind him and Jim had an aghast look on his face.

John's mother was a whirlwind of a woman, her emotions changed by the minute and she was the most obvious person that John knew, and that was saying something. Sherlock had had to speak with her once and had only managed thirty seconds before he'd turned to John begging to be released from the torture. Jim had seen the woman, well of course, he knew the benefit of becoming friends with the mother of a partner. She'd seen right past his ruse from the beginning and had immediately thrown him out of the house. John had found out moments later when his mum rung him up.

"You wouldn't." Jim said, the certainty in his voice more directed at himself than John. "You can't stand being in that house either." John smiled sweetly.

"Yes but I'd rather have mother judging my every move and trying to teach me to cook to her standards than be sat between the two of you while you're bickering over me." He answered, slipping out of Sherlock's grip and moving towards the kitchen.

When he was out of sight, the two genii stared at each other.  
>"He wouldn't…" Sherlock said quietly, not sure.<br>"He would." Jim affirmed, not in any way happy about it.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the day went by pretty quietly, Jim had skulked off somewhere soon after John had left the two men to sort out their differences. Sherlock stayed just in his peripheral vision, waiting to pounce (for once in the metaphorical sense) as soon as the doctor indicated he was ready for their night time plans. John sat with his cup of tea and switched the TV on, not to watch it but to see how long he could push the detective before the man snapped.

About an hour and a half was the limit for Sherlock and he strode forward, swiped the newspaper that John had found along with his tea, placed them both on the coffee table then straddled the soldier.

"Stop teasing." He growled. "You've been fidgeting for ten minutes now, I know you want to come to bed with me and still you insist on drawing this out and indirectly lessening the time I have with you. Just stop it." John smiled up at him, his eyes giving all the permission that Sherlock needed to swoop in and capture the doctors mouth in a soft kiss. John felt his lips tingle with electricity and he tried to deepen the kiss but the detective was determined to take his time, grabbing the soldiers hair to hold him in place. John broke away with a confused glance and it was Sherlock's turn to smile ruefully.

"We're going to do this properly. Jim uses you, I'm going to have you." His voice growlled lowly and the doctor couldn't help but moan, biting his lip to try and hide the sound. Sherlock chuckled and rolled his hips, grinning darkly as his actions caused John to gasp and buck uncontrollably.

Eventually, Sherlock slid of John's lap and guided him to the bedroom before peeling off each layer of clothing excruciatingly slowly.

"Fuck's sake, Sherlock. Hurry up." John groaned, gripping the detectives shirt, trying to tear the fabric from the taller males body. Sherlock still altogether and gently pulled John to the bed. The next thing the doctor realised was this flatmates skilled tongue trailing down his skin. He shivered and tried to sit up but a pale hand on his chest stopped him.

"Let me." Sherlock murmured softly, more a question than an order. John gripped the bed sheets and nodded with a whimper.

Less than a millisecond later, the tongue was back, leaving slick trails that went ever lower but never past the navel. The soldier panted and twisted his hands, still gripping the sheets.

"Oh God, please Sherlock." He moaned. The detective placed his hands on John's thighs to keep him in place then looked up.

"What was that?" He asked innocently. John glared down at him. Sherlock frowned then blew slowly on the doctors shaft. The blond soldier practically screamed, frustration setting in as he tried to buck his hips again to no avail.

"So what do you want?" Sherlock asked again, his baritone voice smoother than velvet.

"You.' John gasped. 'Will be the ahh… death of me… God, Sherl… Please."

The detective finally took pity and pressed his lips to the head of John's member, hands still firmly on the doctors thighs to stop him bucking. John was torn between wanted to watch and knowing that if he did, this would all be over far too quickly. Sherlock let his tongue slide down the length, barely touch the doctor's skin at all. John moaned abashedly and gripped at the bed sheets again, barely able to keep himself from grabbing his flatmates head and fucking his mouth. It would serve the bastard right for teasing him.

Sherlock pulled away, smirking at the whine emitting from John's lips, and made his way back up.

"As much as I would _love_ to take you over just like that." He purred, cutting himself off as he moved John like a puppet. "I think making you cum this way would be better." He circled a digit around for a moment before slipping the first section inside. John bit his lip, not wanting to beg. Sherlock smiled darkly but then seemed to think better of it and slowly pushed the finger all the way to the knuckle. The soldier wriggled, trying not to moan. His flatmate smiled and retracted the digit, causing the blond to keen wantonly.

"Oh God, please Sherlock." He whined, giving up on not begging. "Please just fuck me." The detective pressed a lip to John's lips.

"Hush, we'll have none of that language." He purred.

The doctor couldn't keep still at all any longer. Sherlock chuckled to himself and raised Johns' legs over his shoulder, hearing the audible sigh as he lined himself up. Then he pressed in, feeling the warm envelope him as he embedded himself to the hilt in the blond doctor. They stayed completely still for a moment, staring at each other before the taller male finally began moving, slowly at first. John gripped Sherlock's forearms tightly, so tight that they knew there would be bruises when this ended but neither man could bring themselves to care. Sherlock picked up the speed and felt his orgasm building. He grasped hold of the doctors member, pumping it in time with his own thrusts. John's mind had abandoned his mouth as he spewed random, half gasping words, most of which didn't even make sense. The soldier clenched as his orgasm ripped through him, sending Sherlock over the top with him. The detective gingerly pulled out then collapsed on top of his doctor, wrapping his arms around the shorter man as he rolled onto his side.

* * *

><p>Slowly, the world came back to John and he sighed contently. Sherlock chuckled and he tilted his head to look at the taller man.<p>

"I had rather hoped we'd last longer than that." The detective smirked. John huffed a laugh.

"You'll have to ask Jim for stamina tips." He replied. Sherlock scowled at him.

"Don't mention his name here." He hissed, gripping the doctor tighter in his hug. John nodded, unable to breath and the hold was loosened slightly. They were silent for many moments, seemingly trapped in a world of their own creation.

* * *

><p>For many hours, the two just lay in the bed snuggling. John was surprised that Sherlock hadn't got restless yet. He cast a glance down at the detective, who was looking very intently at something on his skin. The doctor raised a questioning eyebrow, one that did not go unnoticed.<br>"You have a little scar here." Sherlock said, pointing to the skin just below John's right armpit where a two inch slither of white marred the flesh. "It is an unusual place for a scar. Looks like a jagged cut and its old, made far before you went into the army." John knew a veiled question when he saw one, Sherlock wanted to know what happened but he didn't want to ask.  
>"That is a memento from my university years." He answered vaguely. "I can't quite remember what happened, I was very drunk at the time." Though he couldn't remember, he knew exactly what had happened. Mike had filled him in the morning after. Sherlock scowled at him.<br>"Why won't you tell me?" He huffed, sulking. John chuckled.  
>"Because it's really embarrassing and you call me an idiot enough as it is." The detective's bottom lip tremoured a bit, an act which was entirely put on but no less effective. John sighed, knowing that he was going to regret saying this at some point in the near future.<br>"Fine," He grumbled. "We had a statue in front of our dorm and every year someone put a traffic cone on his head. In the fourth year it was my turn. I was very extremely drunk at the time and it took me four attempted to get up on the statues shoulders. They threw me up the cone and I put it on his head but then realized I couldn't get down. I sat on the statue for about three hours before attempting it, when I promptly fell forward and pierced myself on the top of the scales the statue was holding. Thankfully it wasn't very long so it didn't go in deep but I then stayed on there for another thirty minutes while they phoned for the ambulance. I woke up in hospital surrounded by my dorm mates. For the next three years, they kept scales away from me and 'escorted' me around any statue to make sure I didn't injure myself."

Seemingly happy with the answer, Sherlock went back to whatever he'd been doing before. John decided it was probably cataloguing all his flaws, and wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. He was proved right when the detective pushed him, trying to roll him onto his front.

"You have a mouth and the ability to speak." John sighed. "Why don't you just ask me to move?" The detective grunted in reply and pushed him over onto his stomach.  
>"Dull." He huffed. John took the answer, most people wouldn't even get that.<p>

* * *

><p>Eventually, John himself got too restless to stay under the covers. He shuffled to the end of the bed and was pulled back again by a strong arm.<br>"I'm not finished." Said the petulant man-child. John unhooked the fingers gripping his waist and made to get out again.  
>"If I stay here any longer I'll wet myself" He replied. "I'm surprised that you aren't bouncing off the walls yourself." The detective stared at him.<br>"I'll buy the milk for a week if you stay in the bed"' He offered, completely straight faced. John frowned.  
>"What?"<br>"If you stay until I've finished then I will go out and buy the milk for a week. You are always complaining about how I never buy the milk." Sherlock explained, his face now uncertain, wondering if he had misjudged the importance of milk. John realised why every time they had an argument that was essentially Sherlock's fault, the fridge became loaded with milk. It was him apologizing. In his own, absurd way.  
>"Can I go to the loo then come back?" John asked, really feeling the need in his bladder now. His partner sighed.<br>"Fine." He sulked, pulling away.

It was the quickest loo visit John had ever had, he didn't want to keep Sherlock waiting, not when he'd promised to actually to some shopping. The doctor thought he might even be able to convince the man to pick up a few other things while he was there. As soon as he returned, John lay back down on his stomach and Sherlock continued his exploration into the life and times of John Watson's body.

* * *

><p>At evening, Moriarty finally decided to show. When the door opened, John was busy watched Doctor Who reruns on Watch while Sherlock was snuggling up behind him on the sofa with his long arms wrapped around the doctor's waist. For the whole day, Sherlock had been adamant that he would not leave John's side, which was annoying when the doctor just wanted to go and make himself a damn cup of tea without an overgrown sea urchin clung to the back of him. The criminal looked at the two men for a moment then went and sat in John's chair without a word.<p>

Doctor Who finished and the adverts blared out at three times the volume of the episode. No one moved to turn it down though, the remote was on the coffee table which meant that someone would have to stand to get it.  
>"Have a nice day?" John asked casually, his eyes skirting up to the Irishman. Jim huffed.<br>"Finally acknowledging me then." He sulked. John rolled his eyes.  
>"Doctor Who is sacred." He replied. "You should know that by now. When I'm watching Doctor Who, nothing short of the apocalypse is going to tear me away from the screen." Moriarty glowered.<br>"Be careful what you say, Johnny Boy. I could easily bring about the apocalypse for your attentions." His voice was low and threatening but John paid no attention. Instead, he forced Sherlock to sit up in the side closest to the TV. He then patted the sofa next to him as an invitation for Moriarty to sit with them. The criminal looked at the offered place for a second, John knew he wanted to sit in the best seat, the one in which Sherlock currently resided.  
>"There's another episode on after the break and I'm not going to move for you when it starts." John warned, patting the sofa again. Grumbling, Jim shuffled over and slid underneath the doctor's feet, placing a hand on the blond males' stomach. John sighed contently as the Doctor Who theme tune blazed into life once more.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN-<strong> And we're done for another week. I'm beginning to remember why I don't write fluff very often... It's so difficult. Anyway, thanks for reading!  
>B<br>x


	9. Chapter 9

**AN-** Hello out there! To anyone still reading, I thank you. I'd also love to hear what you think so far.  
>B<br>x

* * *

><p>The next day, John decided to head out by himself. He didn't know what had made him so needy of independence all of a sudden but he knew he had to get away from his flatmates. Sherlock was sceptical about letting him leave while Jim was over the moon. This brought about a verbal sparring match between the two geniuses, one which was loud enough to rival an atomic bomb and twice as deadly. John watched the two bicker for a couple of minutes then grabbed his gun and a jacket and snuck out of the flat once he saw an opening.<p>

* * *

><p>Outside, the doctor kept a brisk pace, it wasn't anywhere near warm enough outside to dawdle at a leisurely pace. John tried not to jump or freeze every time someone brushed up against him but it was hard, he half expected to be injected and dragged off the street but he swallowed his fears and continued walking. This was foolish, but he couldn't live in fear any longer. He couldn't hide in his hovel and wait for the world to pass by outside. John passed by a small café and backtracked to head inside. In the cosy room, the doctor realised he'd taken Jim's jacket by mistake. He groaned, then realised that the coat contained Jim's phone, keys and wallet. It was the wallet that he was especially pleased about, as it meant he could get a drink.<p>

With a drink-coffee, one sugar- in hand, John found a table which allowed him to sit with his back to the wall and had a vantage point for the main entrance. He was partially hidden by the patterned window so people looking into the café would have to be really looking to find him. Of course, that meant he had no hope of staying hidden if Holmes or Moriarty walked by but to the general population he was pretty much invisible. John took a sip of the coffee and allowed himself to relax, just a little. He jumped back into full alertness as his pocket vibrated angrily. Scolding himself for being so easily scared, John fished out the mobile and looked at the screen. A message. It was Jim's phone, Jim's _work _phone, he really should answer this or even look at the text. He probably didn't want to know what it was about anyway.

**We need help. Now. **

He was right, he really didn't want to know what was going on. The text was by some person who'd been named 'Victim' in Jim's contacts, which could really be anyone he knew. Another vibration rippled through the phone and the text thread updated with an address. It wasn't all that far away, in fact if he ran, John would be there in about five minutes. The doctor frowned, wondering why he'd even thought about going to the aid of some random criminal. But really, it was his fault if it all went badly, wasn't it? Moriarty probably had some plan in place but if he didn't get the texts then he couldn't put them in action.

John was running down the high street, with every footstep he reminded himself that this was a stupid idea and yet his feet still pounded the pavement, getting ever closer to the address in the text. When he was outside, John took a moment to inspect the building. It was a small terrace house, state of the art and mightily familiar but the soldier couldn't place where he knew it from. Still, his decision was made. John carefully crept round to the back of the house, checking each ground floor window as he passed to see if it was open. Eventually, he found one and hoisted it up. With on final look inside, John heaved himself onto the windowsill and slipped inside.

* * *

><p>"-why don't we just give him a big neon sign saying 'kidnap me' while we're at it? Or better yet, just hand him over to Mycroft now and save everyone the hassle." Sherlock growled, his hands waving in the air to accentuate his point. Jim folded his arms, tapping one foot. They'd been arguing for ages now, at least four minutes and he was bored of it.<br>"It's his idea." He said. "And besides, do you really think I'd leave him unprotected? I have the world at my fingertips, keeping track of one veteran army doctor is easy-" Moriarty reached for his phone and found it wasn't there. He turned to the chair where he had put his jacket down when he'd walked in only to find that missing as well. In fact, come to think of it, he hadn't heard John since the argument had started. Jim froze.  
>"Shit."<p>

* * *

><p>John made his way through the dim house, no lights were on inside but the light from the sun cast enough for him to walk without bumping into things. He checked every downstairs room before he was faced with a choice; go upstairs or go downstairs. Either way, he was bound to alert anyone in the house so he needed to make sure he went the right way. John took a breath and looked at the stairs, he could see nothing to say if someone had gone up there or not. He looked at the door to the cellar and came up blank again. The doctor shook himself and tried again, it couldn't be that hard he just had to find something that was out of- <em>the dust! <em>The handle of the door had dust at one end but not and the other where it had been opened. John smiled as he crept forward and slowly opened the door, silently praying that it wouldn't creak.

The next challenge was the steps, he could take them quickly and be sure to alert everyone in the nearby area or he could take them slowly in the hope that though he was heard, the people would think it was just the house creaking or something. John decided to opt for the cautious method, he placed his gun where it could be easily grabbed and crept down the steps, taking them one at a time. Each footstep was met with a low groaning creak as the old wooden stairs complained under his weight. The first time, John winced but every step afterwards, he just paused and prayed that his movements had gone unnoticed.

At the bottom of the steps, John crouched against the wall and peered around the corner. In the dim light, he could make out what looked like a figure sat in an old-style dining room chair. One with a wooden back.  
>"-you think I would just let you get away with it?" An unknown male voice asked threateningly. The doctor pressed closer to the wall, straining to listen in to the conversation.<br>"I have no idea what you're talking about." The figure in the chair growled, his voice rasping.  
>"Tell me where you hid it." The man standing demanded. A haunting laugh escaped the man in the chair. A man, John realised, who had been bound to the piece furniture with what appeared to be heavy duty rope.<br>"Hid what?" The figure sniggered. "I have no idea what you're talking about." In a fit of rage the man standing raised a gun and a shot fired.

John walked out from his hiding place as the man fell to the floor. He held his gun at the man in the chair, silently praying that he'd shot the right man.  
>"Jim. Thank God." The figure in the chair sighed. John came into the his line of vision and he froze.<br>"Who are you?" He asked. The doctor tried a smile.  
>"The man in possession of Jim's phone." He replied, the barrel of his gun aimed squarely at the man's forehead. "Now, who the hell are you and what's going on?" For a moment, it looked as though the man wasn't going to say anything but then his eyes widened.<br>"Oh God. It's you." He gasped. "You're Moriarty's… thing. His…" John had to laugh.  
>"I think I'm a bit more than a thing." He answered. "But yes, you're right. Now who are you?"<br>"Victor. Long term client." The man introduced. "And currently without feeling in my arms and legs, so if you wouldn't mind…" He gestured to the rope surrounding his shoulders, waist, wrists, knees and ankles. Someone really didn't want him to leave.  
>"I'm John, by the way." The doctor hummed as he set to work on the bonds.<p>

* * *

><p>Once John had untied the man, he tried to stand up. His legs seemed to fail him as his knee cracked against the concrete floor, breaking his fall. Victor hissed in pain and John helped him stand again, this time keeping hold until he was sure that the man's legs would support his weight. The brunette had a strong square jaw but there was a softness there, one which came from a privileged background. John couldn't tell any more about this bloke, he would have to find out the old fashioned way but now was not the time.<br>"I'll walk you home." He offered, though his tone didn't allow Victor the chance to refuse. "After all, we may encounter some more resistance. With that, he pulled the man to the steps and began to climb, looking down to make sure he didn't trip over in the darkness. Two shadows cast across the stairs from the light at the top. _Light? _John had closed the door when he had entered, there shouldn't be any light… With a feeling of sudden dread, John slowly raised his head to look up at the entrance to the cellar.

Waiting for them at the top of the stairs were two dark haired, wild eyed men who were looking particularly angry. John bit his lip and signalled for Victor to stand behind him. The man did without question.  
>"Victor." Moriarty purred sweetly. "How are you? Got yourself in trouble again, I see. Well isn't it <em>lucky <em>that someone was there to save you. What a _shame_ it would be if something were to happen to you on your way home." Victor's breath hitched but before he could say anything, John butt in.  
>"Yes, that would be a shame. So to make sure that nothing happens, I'm going to walk him home. And I will shoot <em>anyone <em>who decides to attack." Before anyone could reply, John grabbed Victor by the sleeve and dragged him passed the two shocked genii.

* * *

><p>Outside, Victor bent his mouth to John's ear.<br>"I think my eyes went a bit funny." He said lowly. "Because the tall bloke looked like Holmes." The doctor laughed.  
>"Your eyes are working just fine." He answered, still walking. Victor stopped and John turned to face him. The brunette looked very much like a robot trying to compute something.<br>"You mean that was Holmes, they were standing right next to each other… They… But… What?"  
>"Yeh, it's amazing what two obsessive, possessive genii will do for love." John hummed, grabbing Victors sleeve again and pulling him along. "I have no idea where you live so it's in our best interest if you lead and I look out for any gunmen."<p>

For the rest of the walk, Victor was trying to understand what John had told him but it was just too farfetched for him to allow. Jim Moriarty was not a man held by love, he was not a man held by anything. He went where he pleased and did whatever the hell he wanted. Money was no object, people were no object and love was definitely no object. So where did that leave this John fellow? And why was Holmes there? What were his ties to John? He looked mightily pissed, they both did. But they simply let them pass. Come to think of it, John didn't cower from them, he looked them both dead in the eye. Victor shivered. A man who could stare down the world's only consulting criminal was a man to be reckoned with.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN- **Exams are looming. I don't like this feeling, the feeling that I should be studying... Oh well, here's your update. On time again! Must be some kind of record for me.  
>Enjoy<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>John followed Jim's client into a swanky hotel and, unsurprisingly, they took the elevator to the top floor which held the penthouse suite. A suite which would cost about a years' salary for two nights.<br>"I don't stay in one place for very long." Victor explained in the elevator ride up. "But I like to have certain comforts when I can." John nodded as the lift doors opened and they stepped out. In front of them was one solitary door with a slot for a key card. Victor produced a thin metal sheet and passed it across the sensor in one fluid movement. The slot beeped once then the lock clicked open and the door swung wide.

The soldier went inside first, gun raised.  
>"I don't think this is necessary." Victor called. "No one can get in here without a key and I have the only one. They replace the entire lock after each visitor has left for the last time." John glared at him and he shut up, leaving the doctor to check each of the seven spacious rooms which joined to the central space with a beautiful view out into the city. While he did so, Victor made his way into the kitchen area and prepared two tumbler glasses and a bottle of scotch, setting them out of the glass table in the central area before relaxing into one of three white leather sofas.<p>

Once satisfied, John joined him, but he didn't sit down.  
>"Right, well don't answer the door to anyone and you should be fine." He said, switching the safety on his gun and putting it in the concealed holster he'd fastened to his waistband. The doctor then made to leave but was stopped by the other males' voice.<br>"Come on, stay for a while. I'm sure there's nothing pressing you to leave so soon. Have a drink." He offered, holding out a half filled glass of scotch whiskey. John mulled over the idea silently, he really should get back before his two idiot genii wrecked the city… but then again, he hadn't been able to just relax and have a drink in such a long time. Relaxation won out and John backtracked to sit on the sofa beside Victor.

* * *

><p>Two hours and twenty seven minutes later, there came a knock at the door. John raised his head, all hints of tipsiness suddenly gone as he scanned for possible exits. Penthouse suites weren't really suited for escaping. Victor sluggishly got to his feet, going to open the door. The soldier stopped him by gripping his wrist and yanking him back down onto the sofa. Victor's hands shook wildly, trying hard not to spill his drink on the white furniture. He managed, but only just and the liquid spilled out onto the wooden flooring.<br>"You should be drunker than you are." Victor stated glassily. It was true that the whiskey was some strong stuff and three glasses should be enough to make anyone tipsy. Which was why John hadn't been drinking it. Though he desperately wanted a drink, John knew better that to accept drinks from strangers, especially in unfamiliar territory. With the added threats on top it was just not worth even considering. Instead, John had had the first half a glass and pretended after that. Victor had already had two, and by the looks of it, he wasn't good at holding his drink, so he didn't notice the level of whiskey in the glass never lowering.

John made his way to the door carefully, pulling his gun out of the holster again. When he got to the door, the doctor peered through the keyhole. There was a small eye to look through but that was a clear target for a gun so he checked through the only other hole in the door. John couldn't see the face of the visitor from the angle but that didn't matter, he didn't need to see a face to know the man. Who else bought such stupidly expensive Westwood suits?  
>"What do you want?" John hollered, determined not to open the door until he absolutely had to.<br>"Now Johnny, be a dear and open this door. It's rude to keep a guest waiting outside." The criminal replied in a drawl.  
>"Not a chance. I don't trust you not to kill him." The soldier answered.<br>"But why would I do that, Johnny? Victim is my best customer!"  
>"Yes and he also put me in danger in your eyes. A danger that you weren't in control of. That's probably something punishable by death."John answered.<p>

Silence spoke louder than any words could have.  
>"Fine. I won't end his pathetic life, now let me in." The sweetness had disappeared completely, leaving boiling rage in its place. John knew he couldn't keep the door closed much longer. If the clicking was anything to go by, Moriarty was overriding the systems lock on the door. The doctor sighed and turned the handle, knowing that this could only go badly.<p>

With one final look at the back of Victor's head, John opened the door, standing in the entranceway so that no one could get by. Moriarty stood with his arms folded.  
>"Shirley is not impressed with you." He stated scoldingly, like a parent telling off a naughty child. "He wants you to go home now." The doctor held firm.<br>"And that would conveniently leave you alone with Victor, wouldn't it?" He answered, leaning against the doorframe to block Jim's client from view. The criminal's lip curled up in a snarl.  
>"I will not tell you again." Moriarty growled threateningly. "Go home."<br>"Make me."

Why did he have to antagonise the man? John thought to himself as he was forced back by a strong hand round his throat. Victor realised something was happening behind him and turned around to see John getting flung into the white sofa opposite.  
>"Stay." Jim ordered before turning to his client. "You have three minutes to explain why I shouldn't end you." Victor gulped.<br>"Uhh…" His alcohol addled brain refused to engage.  
>"Two minutes, fifty seconds." Jim drawled, checking his watch. Victor opened his mouth and closed it again several times.<br>"I…" He tried again.  
>"Two minutes, thirty seconds."<br>"I'm your best client?"  
>"Two minutes, twenty seconds."<br>"I'm entertaining?"  
>"Deary me, not doing very well are you?" Jim sighed. "Two minutes, ten seconds."<p>

"How about this then." John said. "I won't speak to or acknowledge you for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever." Jim spun around, confused.  
>"What will that achieve?" He snapped. "I do what I want to you when I want, you never get a say in it anyway." John shrugged and turned his attention to the view. Moriarty glared at Victim, an apt name for a man who never seemed to stay out of trouble. Jim knew exactly what John's threat would achieve; him fighting and arguing was half the fun so if he didn't do it any more then it would be like fucking a ragdoll. Utterly pointless. Not only that but John would still talk to Sherlock, he'd be the only one out of the two to get attention. Jim would be reduced to a ghost, someone in the shadows. He'd worked had to bring himself into the spotlight, being forced back out again would be brutal. Jim's jaw set firm as he glared at the doctor looking out of the window.<br>"Fine. We'll go." He hissed. John slowly turned his head.  
>"You sure?" He asked. "You can go berserk if you wish. Though I'm not sure if red would suit the décor…" Moriarty strided across and lifted the soldier from his seat by the scruff of the neck.<br>"We're leaving." He growled.

Perhaps it was the small amount of whiskey he had consumed, or maybe he was still on an adrenaline high but John was damned if he was going to let the arrogant bastard show him up in front of his client. He'd lost too much to be seen as a coward now.  
>"No. Here's what we are going to do. You are going to walk out of that door alone and go back to the flat, without-and I'm being very clear about this- <em>without <em>blowing anything up. You are going to go back into a residence that you own of your choosing, or Baker Street, and there you can do whatever you like. As long as it doesn't include blowing anything up, killing someone or causing permanent injury." As he spoke, the doctor reeled off the three rules. "Now I, I am going to stay here for a bit, have a drink, and then I will go home either tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on my ability to walk."

Moriarty stared. It was as though his mind had been disconnected, even the anger had disappeared, for the time being anyway. When the wires reconnected, the result was not all that elegant.  
>"W-what!?" He spluttered. John grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and dragged him to the door, hauling him out and slamming the door behind him. Usually, the doctor wouldn't dream of doing something so… well, so violent. Not against the criminal mastermind. But he was a little annoyed and slightly inebriated and this was probably the only chance he was going to get to boss the man about. When angry footsteps pounded away from the door, John let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in.<br>"You've got balls, John." Victor slurred, his head lolling on the back of the chair. "Some serious balls."

* * *

><p>Jim stormed down the street, his car followed him at a safe distance, Jeeves knew better than to try to pick him up when he was in this kind of murderous mood, they had lost several cars to such… moods. <em>How dare he, <em>the criminal fumed as his expensive shoes pounded the concrete pavement, _how _dare _he! That doctor. If he weren't… I would murder him, I would slice his vocal cords, I would empty his veins of blood, I would sever every muscle from his body. _Something crunched and it took Jim a moment to realise that he had crushed his phone in his grasp. The consulting criminal swore vividly and altered his course to call in at the nearest phone store. As much as he loathed to be around the plebeian population, his phone was a commodity for which he could not wait two to five days for a new replacement.

The store knew him by face, they always kept a stash of his exact model of phone- one which was not available to the normal customer, it was specially designed. Many rumours followed the strange, usually angry man, some say that he invented the phone model itself, others that he stole the designs. There were even some that said he knew government secrets and his silence was bought with top secret technology. The man barged past the queue of people, who though disgruntled seem to realise the danger they were in so stayed quiet, and placed the cracked phone on the desk. Serene, the worker who was unfortunately situated behind the desk, fumbled as she placed the new device beside the broken one.  
>"Would you like me to switch the sim card?" She asked.<br>"Do I look like an imbecile?" Jim snarled, snatching the phone and quickly replaced the small card himself. "Perhaps this is a task too difficult for an amoeba such as yourself, but destroy that phone. Preferably by incineration." Then he stormed back out, leaving a feel of utter desolation in his wake.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN- **Another chapter up on time, I really don't know how I'm doing this, it has to be the first time since I started that I've managed to keep to a time scale. As always, let me know what you think.  
>Enjoy<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>The doctor stretched languidly, creasing the white sofa beneath him. A glance at the clock told him that it was coming up to midnight. Victor was snoring quietly, his neck in a position which looked like it should be broken. He twitched slightly, eyes flickering and repositioned, his head lolling to the other side, landing at an equally odd angle. John sighed and hoisted himself from the exceptionally nice sofa, rolling his stiff shoulder. He hadn't had much to drink really, not enough to stop him from going home. The doctor moved over to where Victor lay and positioned him in a way which would not leave him with severe joint pain when he woke then went in search of a blanket.<p>

With Victor under the cover of a thick blue blanket, John decided that he should probably go home, he hadn't heard any explosions but nor had he turned the news on. For all he knew, Jim could have over thrown a small country or something. Well that hadn't been one of the rules. John grabbed a piece of paper and hunted for a pen that worked. When he found one, he wrote a quick note for Victor, explaining that he was going home and leaving his number, should the man decide he wants to go for a pint somewhere. After that, John grabbed his, well Jim's, jacket and left.

* * *

><p>The London air was chilly, an exceptionally clear night letting the trapped heat escape into the void of space. Streetlamps cast spotlights of yellow hue onto the cracked pavement. John walked quickly, his hands shoved in the jacket pockets to try and keep them warm. His breath fogged in front of him as he turned onto the next street, now only a few blocks from Baker Street. Even in the big city, the London cabs were proving evasive. Still, John was grateful for the walk, it meant he had time to prepare to face Sherlock. Jim coming to him was good, because it meant he could blow off at the man and change the reason for the criminal's wrath. Sherlock was a different story; and one which John could not see ending well.<p>

A shadow shot across the soldier's peripheral vision and the man felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He kept walking as to not alert his tail to the fact that he had been noticed. The soldier had several plans to use when he had a tail; a few that were given to him by Sherlock, a couple he learned by evading Jim but most were a result of Afghanistan. More importantly, the hospital afterwards. He held the record for the longest time on the run from the hospital staff. He continued on, not looking back and giving himself away. His gun was in his waistband but he couldn't reach it now without seeming suspicious.

John took a wrong turn, deciding that he wouldn't lead this man to Sherlock. Not when he couldn't warn anyone first. He wound his way through the streets, keeping an eye out for a taxi cab or even a move vehicle, just something he could escape through. He took another turn, risking a glance behind him but seeing nothing. After a moment, John realised that he had taken a turn that lead to a dead end. He silently kicked himself and set about looking for an escape route. He didn't get far. Knowing that his assailant was right on top of him, the soldier pulled his gun. A sharp pinprick was the last thing he felt.

* * *

><p>When he returned to his senses, John found himself in a small, windowless room. Alone. He had a strange taste in his mouth and he ached everywhere. The soldier stopped himself from panicking by sheer will, instead inspecting the door. It was strong and cold to the touch, with no handle. There was no way of using it from inside. The soldier looked round for another exit but all that greeted him was stone walls. Nothing anywhere. The temperature was dropping slowly, only just fast enough for him to notice. John's skin prickled as his heart rate spiked wildly. Despite his best efforts, the panic bubbled. He could only see grey, grey wall, grey ceiling and grey floor. The door was locked tight. John felt he knew who was behind this little prank.<br>"This isn't funny, Jim." John shouted to the walls. "Let me out right now." Only silence answered him.

John resolved to sit and wait. Jim wouldn't keep him locked up in here in silence forever; Sherlock wouldn't allow it. In fact, they were probably bickering right outside the door. When he strained his ears, the doctor fancied he could hear them both but he knew it was just his imagination.  
>"Come on Jim, I'm sorry okay? I shouldn't have answered your phone but he needed help, I wasn't going to just let him die. You'd probably be pissed off if I let that happen too, I couldn't win." He called. Jim would speak back when he tried to justify himself, the man always did.<p>

_Silence. _John's ribcage fluttered as the hairs on the back of his neck rose again. Jim should have answered by now, would have answered. So who was holding him captive? Mycroft? No, he wouldn't. Not after the last time... The soldier tried to keep a grip on the panic but he couldn't hold on for long and soon his chest was tightening as his mind fell back into blocked memories.

A fuzzy figure came into view, moving in slow precise movements around the doctor.  
><em>John Watson, I had hoped you'd be the one who would save my brother.<br>_"I never promised anything!" John shouted at the elder Holmes brother who paced the cell. Somewhere in his head, John knew this wasn't real but that thought was lost in the swell of fear and anger. "Sherlock didn't need saving anyway!"  
><em>You had been such a good influence.<br>_"Stop." The doctor whispered to himself, to his head. He didn't want this; he didn't want to go through any of this again.  
><em>Now look at the mess you find yourself in.<em>  
>John grabbed his hair, pulling hard to try and get out of this nightmare but the image of Mycroft Holmes remained, sinister and overpowering.<br>_You worm your way into my brothers heart-  
><em>"I didn't!"  
><em>-then you corrupt him.<br>_"No. No I didn't. I swear I didn't." John couldn't breathe, his chest felt too tight. No air was reaching his lungs. He was suffocating. He could feel his bones rumbling, the walls were cracking around him. A loud noise filled his ears but the booming voice of Mycroft sliced through.  
><em>I'm going to keep you. Keep you so I know exactly where you are and that you can't do any more damage to him ever again.<br>_His vision was swimming; cracks in the walls became gaping holes. John fell, the whole world tilted and suddenly blacked out.

* * *

><p>When it came to one John Watson, Sherlock Holmes was not a patient man. He liked John to be where he could contact him at all times, to be within reach at all times and was not in the habit of waiting for this should John become… AWOL. He had waited this long because Jim had stormed off to the residence of that posh, small time criminal who had dragged John into danger; and Moriarty had decided not to allow his enemy along for the ride. Sherlock could have tailed him, easily, but in the end he knew that Moriarty had a plan and if he went as well then they would both have a plan. Their plans didn't usually mix well together, and John often escaped in the fallout.<p>

Moriarty returned, holding a brand new phone but without the presence of Dr Watson. Sherlock glared at him, awaiting what was going to be the best excuse in the history of the world. Or the world was going to be short of one mass-murdering psychopath. Jim looked equally pissed off as he plonked himself down in John's chair.  
>"He kicked me out." The criminal stated. "He kicked me out of that damned penthouse and order me to go home."<br>"And you sat there and took it?" Sherlock sneered. Moriarty flicked out his favourite bloodletting knife, lazily directing it in the direction of the detective.  
>"I did not expect him to be so forceful. It was as though he has an alternate personality." Jim huffed.<br>"Well yes, that will be the soldier." Sherlock stated, using the voice he reserved for the rest of the population when they were being particularly dim.  
>"Yes, yes, I know that." Jim snapped. "I just thought the <em>soldier <em>had gone into hiding. Your brother did a terribly good job of scaring him away."

The consulting criminal had stalked to the bedroom soon after the exchange, dragging his knife across the walls of the flat, scarring down to the plasterboard and leaving scraps of wallpaper hanging haggardly. Sherlock had turned his attention to the door. John would be making his own way home. That meant that he either be home just gone one, or he would be back in reasonable hours. As he was at a strangers house and there for the first time, so he probably wouldn't spend the night. Meaning that it was most probable that he would be back just after midnight. And Sherlock was going to make sure he was there when John Watson walked through that door.

* * *

><p>One thirty am. No Watson. Sherlock frowned, wondering if he had misread his doctor. No, his predictions had never been wrong before. John wouldn't spend the night in a strangers house, not even to annoy his flatmates. He would feel like he was using people and that was something that the doctor just didn't do. The detective felt the buzz of a mystery, whirring around his mind palace. He gracefully folded himself into a seated thinking position on the floor, facing the door just in case the doctor did happen to walk in.<p>

And that was how Moriarty found his intellectual enemy when he appeared from the bedroom some seven hours later. He offered the flat a quick scan and sighed.  
>"Where's John?" The anger had subsided somewhat; at the expense of the bed sheets, the mattress, a glass, and several items of clothing.<br>"That is what I'm trying to attain." Sherlock replied, his voice croaky. "He should have been back seven hours, three minutes and twenty seconds ago. I may have misjudged his resolve to stay at the penthouse, I have been trying to factor in this client's considerable wealth but I don't have enough data on John's interactions with those who flaunt their wealth to make a clear judgment." Jim nodded, coming to the same conclusions himself.  
>"So what's the other option?" He asked. Sherlock shot him a sideways glance.<br>"I think you know." He answered.

The criminal groaned, the other option was a kidnapping. Well there were plenty of other options (such as John running off, or someone having a grudge against the doctor himself) but they were too unlikely to consider when faced with the fact that he was essentially a good man and he was now a known associative of both the world's only consulting detective and the world's only consulting criminal. The kidnapper would most likely be someone who had a grudge against one of them. Either that or it was Mycroft sticking his nose in again but this didn't quite fit his style somehow.

So a grudge then, the list was a large one as between them; he and Sherlock had angered most of the world at some point or other. Jim scowled as he realised he was no closer to finding out where John was. He pulled out his mobile opened up his CCTV monitoring system, then took Sherlock's phone and set about hacking the government's piss-poor network security. With both sets of CCTV, they should have a full view of London. More than enough to plot where, and when, John had disappeared.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN- **I'm on a school break now, and by 'break' I mean 'work harder than you would if you were at schools because if you don't you're going to fail everything and let everybody down and never amount to anything in your pathetic existence'. Yeh, I hate exams. More precisely, I hate the school system of learning.

Anyway, enough of my complaining. We're a day early with updates but I'm sure no one is going to complain about that.  
>Enjoy!<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>John blinked awake, his head was pounding like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer. On remembering what had happened before he'd blacked out, he realised why; he must have face-planted the concrete floor when he fainted. His shoulder ached terribly but John found he wasn't able to move it. In fact, he couldn't move at all. As he came more to his senses, the soldier realised that he was not on a chair when he had gone unconscious. The blaring light overhead pierced his eyes, turning the whole room into a white blaze, and the doctor squinted as he gave himself time to readjust. Once he had, he realised that he was not alone.<br>"Hello _Johnny Boy._"

That voice was most definitely not Moriarty and, what was worse, John knew exactly who it was. _Moran. _The blond haired sniper sneered down at him.  
>"Do you know how long it has taken me to get this orchestrated? How difficult it was to rent out a cell without the boss's knowledge?" He asked. John frowned, Sebastian was not a man who gloated, he was one to shoot first and talk later. So what the hell was he doing?<br>"A long time." The sniper answered when it was obvious that John was in no state to speak. He produced a small vial from his breast pocket and opened the cap with a pop.  
>"Well it has taken an awful lot to get you here without your boyfriends, so I don't want to just end you quickly." He offered a small smile. "Oh, make no mistake, I'm going to kill you. Just not quite yet. I want to have some fun first." John blanched as he recalled what happened the last time he was alone in a room with Moran. The marksman laughed. "Don't worry, Watson. I'm not going to rape you. Already done that, now I'm moving on to more fulfilling tasks."<p>

John could only watch as the blond sniper slowly tipped up the vial, pouring a clear liquid, drop by drop onto his lap. For a moment, it appeared as though nothing was happening but then his skin began to itch. The itch soon grew rapidly until John felt his legs burning. He looked up at the sniper in horror as he realised his legs had just been covered in acid. Moran grinned wolfishly and stepped back to watch the show. John gritted his teeth, determined not to let the bastard have his 'fun'. Unfortunately, Sebastian was not going to wait on the doctor to show the pain. He dumped the rest of the liquid on John's legs and the soldier couldn't even begin to hold back the agonising screams.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was in the midst of analysing the data from the CCTV cameras, as well as learning the locations of a few new devices that he hadn't realised Mycroft had put up. The detective didn't bother with Jim's cameras, there was no way of telling if the ones he'd been given were all of them (and they probably weren't) and really, there wasn't a lot that Jim didn't know about him which could be found through watching endless hours of footage. From what the detective could decipher, John started his walk home from the posh clients' penthouse at twelve past twelve. He took the quickest route home, up until three blocks away. At this point, he changes his pace slightly and turns away from Baker Street. Sherlock decided that he must have realised he was being tailed and the idiot didn't want to lead danger to his flat. That was a stupid decision and one that most likely caused his capture.<p>

Jim had buggered off somewhere, but the front door hadn't opened so Sherlock could only assume that he was still somewhere inside. Not that it mattered. The consulting detective turned his attention back onto the CCTV footage.  
><em>Ring ring!<br>_Sherlock scowled as the footage was replaced with the answer symbol and Greg Lestrade's name in bold. He hated being phoned and he didn't have time for it now. The detective pressed 'ignore', pretending not to see the notification for eleven missed calls, and continued to look at the CCTV. John moved do the side, down a small alleyway-  
><em>Ring ring!<br>_"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped as he pressed the phone to his ear.  
>"God, Sherlock, I've been trying to contact you for hours. I gave you details of a case, you haven't said anything." Greg said, his voice strained from what was probably overwork. A difficult case then, more so than usual.<br>"I'm not interested." The dark haired detective replied abruptly. "And I am in the middle of something very important. Don't disturb me again." He ended the call and moved immediately back to the CCTV footage again.

Finally, Sherlock found what he had been looking for; the moments of John's capture. Though he was on the very edge of the shot, he could still be made out. The doctor walked down the alley, his head inclining to each side as he looked for an escape route. Then, he stopped and fell to the floor. A hooded, masked figure of roughly 5'9" hoisted him off of the ground and carried him off. At such a time at night on London's streets, the cops wouldn't even stop him, and if he did he would only have to say that his friend had drank too much and passed out. Sherlock made a steeple using his fingers as he pondered an important question; why did John collapse? It had to be some kind of small object, so a bullet? Sherlock dismissed that idea, there was no blood. A dart then, a small tranquiliser. It was probable. The detective peered at the small screen and took in a new detail, a small dot, one which he had originally dismissed as interference, travelled towards the doctor at lightning speed just before Watson's knee's collapsed from underneath him and he hit the pavement.

* * *

><p>It was only by sheer force of will that John had managed to hold onto the contents of his stomach. His legs ached and burned at the same time, so much so that it was as though he had overloaded and now could barely feel a thing. The doctor decided to make the most of this reprieve in his sensory neurones because unless there was irreparable damage; it wouldn't last long.<br>"It must be annoying." John bit with a smile. "You do all this work for Jim and he still ignores you for me." The doctor tried a grin but it fell more to a grimace. Moran's lip curled.  
>"You're nothing more than a whore. He doesn't keep you round for anything else." The sniper snapped in reply, his heckles rising. John tried to shrug, though his efforts were stunted by the chair he was attached to.<br>"At least he keeps me around."

All things considered, John decided it wasn't a good idea to taunt a man holding him hostage, but he just couldn't help himself. There was just something about Moran that he real couldn't stand and that same thing egged him to goad the man whenever possible. Still, whatever made him do it, he was going to have to pay the price for it now. The sniper took out a small army-issue knife and John inwardly sighed. Moriarty liked playing with knives, why wouldn't his right hand man? Moran stood over John, flicking the end of the blade with his nail.  
>"The Boss always liked to slice." He hummed. "Prolongs the death so he can watch them bleed." His face spread into a toothy grin. "I prefer to <em>stab.<em>"

A shot ran through John's body. His ears rang as a sudden burst of adrenaline flooded his system. All systems on high alert, inspecting for the bullet hole. Only he hadn't been shot, John knew that he hadn't because there wasn't a gun anywhere. The soldier's shoulder throbbed, a pain which was strong enough to pass through the barrier brought on by the body's 'fight or flight' drug. The doctor gasped as he saw the handle of Moran's blade pressed up to his skin. Around it, blood had seeped through the cloth of his shirt. John couldn't move his shoulder, not even a little. It was as though he was being pinned. Sebastian chuckled.  
>"That's gone right through you and into the wood of the chair." He sneered. "So every time you move you will only make the hole bigger."<p>

* * *

><p>Jim growled in frustration, he had been trying to track down anyone with a bone to pick. The problem was that there were too many, he was flooded with data. So much so that it was impossible to sift through. The criminal had started with Sherlock's enemies (discounting himself, of course) as John was more widely known as being with the detective. After three hours he had reduced the pile from a possible five hundred and seventy two suspects to one which had three hundred and ninety four. But three hundred odd suspects was still a damn sight too many for his to deal with. The criminal lifted himself from the computer and went back to find Sherlock, hoping that he had had better luck with finding when and where John disappeared.<p>

When he walked into the living room, he knew that Sherlock had succeeded. Well partly succeeded anyway, any idiot could see the disguised triumph half-heartedly hidden in that face.  
>"What have you found?" He asked.<br>"The time and place." Sherlock replied. "But that doesn't help us much. I couldn't identify the kidnapper. Only that he has a very good shot, is reasonably strong and is used to conducting work in the dark. Most likely ex-military." The detective held out Moriarty's phone to him so he could see the screen. Jim peered at the screen, he couldn't make out any more than a hooded figure carrying an unconscious John Watson.  
>"And you have followed them out of the alleyway?" Jim said. Sherlock gave him a look.<br>"No, I decided to reach out to Watson in the telepathic connection we share and trace the essence of his presence." He answered sarcastically. "Of course I followed them. They slip out of camera sight five minutes later. Oddly enough, as soon as he leaves the alley, he doesn't once walk past one of your cameras. And he doesn't pass the obvious ones of Mycrofts."

Moriarty paused. Only a handful of people knew where he positioned his cameras. Of course, they could be… persuaded to give up that knowledge to other sources. He went back to his list of suspects and immediately cut down the pile to twenty. There would be more to add later when he made connections to other people but for now this was a good list. He transferred the names to the phone which he took back from Sherlock.  
>"Fancy a trip?" He asked the detective. Sherlock nodded, his coat manifesting on his shoulders within seconds.<p>

* * *

><p>John's shoulder throbbed agonisingly, his legs burned as the acid continued to eat its way through his flesh, but the man refused to be beat. His hands were tied behind him on the chair, the rope wrapping around his wrists and the spokes in the back of the chair. The soldier had been slowly unpicking the knots which tied him. It was a painful process, as he had to use his right hand which meant moving the stabbed shoulder. John was just glad that Moran had kept the dagger in, while it was in the wound it was stopping much of the bleeding. When he pulled it out, the doctor knew he wasn't going to survive for much longer. A nerve in his wrist twinged, causing him to jerk his right arm. John hissed and bite his tongue to keep the sound from escaping. As blood filled his mouth, he vowed to kill the sorry son of a bitch that had left him in this state. Not torture, just kill. He was not going to allow that monster a chance to escape.<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

**AN- **Hello again, Happy Easter! Well it's a little later than usual but my time is being taken up with stuff, I'd almost forgotten to post my next chapter. I haven't though, just.  
>Enjoy.<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>Baker Street had a visitor. Well four in fact but they weren't all there together. Victor looked at the house in silent surprise. He hadn't expected such a… low class building. Moriarty's houses were always so stately and filled with expensive trinkets, this did not suit him at all. And as for Holmes, well Victor didn't know much about the great consulting detective but from what he had heard he would have expected something a little nicer. The man got six-figure pay checks! Why was he in this dump? Perhaps it had something to do with John, the doctor had been so uncomfortable in the penthouse. Victor shrugged and knocked on the door, whatever the reason, this was definitely the place of residence. The elderly woman who answered made him question this. She smiled warmly.<br>"Ah, you must be another one of John's friends they're all upstairs. I'll bring you some tea." She said as she ushered him inside and up the stairs, not giving him a chance to say or do anything.

In the flat were three others all sat around the glass topped coffee table. The one closest to the window, a dark haired man who was clearly tall even though he was sat down, was leaning over a map, pointing to various spots. The man sat beside him, who was much smaller and looked as though he'd never seen sunlight before, shook his head and pointed to a different section. Standing over them was a large chap, he was frowning but it was an eerie expression, one that looked as though it didn't belong on his face. Victor coughed quietly. The large male turned to him with a confused look.  
>"And just who are you?" He asked.<br>"A friend of John's." Victor replied, stepping further into the room. "Do you know where he is?" The burly man regarded him with suspicion but eventually beckoned him over to where they all sat.  
>"No, that's why we're here."<p>

Steve, the large man, had called the gang together once he'd realised that John hadn't been answering any of his texts. From what he could pick up, Victor thought that the whole army gang wasn't available but they were all on the lookout. The tall man, Connor, apparently had a brother who was currently on his honeymoon and couldn't be there but had promised that if he saw anything he would tell them. Why he would see something to do with John in the Caribbean, Victor had no idea. Tim, the other person in the room had been quiet the whole time that he knew that Victor was there, he probably just wasn't all that trusting, and he couldn't really be blamed for that when his friend had gone missing and some random bloke who was unknown to everyone shows up out of the blue.

"Well do you think his boyfriends carted him off for a romantic getaway?" Connor asked. Steve scoffed.  
>"The landlady would know about it." He answered. "Not to mention 'romantic' doesn't seem to be their kind of thing." Victor cocked his head.<br>"Boyfriends?" He asked. "So both Holmes and Moriarty are with him?" The group looked at him, suspicion back again.  
>"Yeh, it's plain to see. All his friends know it." Tim said bluntly, the accusation clear in his voice. Victor sighed.<br>"Fine, so I only met him a few days ago, just before he went missing. I have a… business of sorts with Moriarty and got in a little too deep. John got me out of some mess and then Holmes and Moriarty showed up. They were seething, were about to skin me for putting John in danger. John wasn't having any of it though, he barged right passed them and escorted me home." Victor's head got a little fuzzy after that, he probably drank a bit too much whiskey. "Moriarty came round to my penthouse and tried to get John to go back. John blew off at him and the man left. When I woke up later, there was a note from John with his number, asking if I wanted to go for a pint." Victor produced the note from his pocket. "I gave him a few texts but he didn't reply. I thought something might be up so I popped round."

The group took in this new information for many moments.  
>"Where is your penthouse?" Steve asked. Victor gave them the location and they marked it on the map as the last known location.<br>"So this is the last place he was seen. If what you're saying about Holmes and the other one is true then he would have gone straight home." Steve commented as they drew several routes back to Baker Street from the penthouse. After a few moments, they were able to reduce the routes down to the two most probable ones taken. These were picked because they were the shortest, quickest journeys which didn't involve a main road to cross without a set of lights. The group were so engrossed in their task that they didn't notice the door to the flat opening.

* * *

><p>A cold chill was beginning to settle itself on John's skin as he managed to undo the last section of the knot which held his arms in place. He couldn't move his right arm still, the blade firmly lodged into the wood of the chair, and his legs were bound at the ankles to the chair legs but it was a start. The soldier made sure to keep the rope in his hands to disguise the fact that he had unbound himself, he struggled every now and again just to make sure that suspicions weren't raised. Moran slithered into the room, his piercing gaze set on John from the moment he stepped inside. The doctor stared him down, fighting the urge to jump the bastard, he knew he wouldn't win but the urge was there all the same.<p>

"How's the arm, _Captain_?" The sniper questioned with a snide grin. John would have shrugged but that was a very bad idea at this point.  
>"A little stiff and not got the circulation it used to but it's still attached I guess." The doctor replied, fighting to keep the pain out of his voice. Moran laughed.<br>"You're funny." He hummed. "A touch of gallows humour, I remember the hospital nurses telling me about that. The infamous Doctor Watson; esteemed escapee, master of disguise and encased in a void of dark humour." John would have smiled had anyone else said that, in the sniper's voice it sounded hollow and twisted. "Everybody loves Doctor Watson." Sebastian continued. "Even the world's greatest minds. They won't find you, you know. I had help." John frowned.  
>"Help?" He asked. "How would help you?" The sniper grinned darkly.<br>"Someone who really doesn't like you." He sneered. "He wouldn't get involved directly, of course, but he was able to _drop _the location of several hidden cameras and the like, you know, make my job easier." John felt his blood run cold.

* * *

><p>Sherlock stepped into Baker Street with the picture of shock on his face. He had only been out for half an hour, twenty eight minutes to be precise, he didn't expect his residence to be taken up by a group of John's annoying friends in his wake. He glared at the crowd who were oogling at a map of London with some charters and pen on it. The detective hoped that it was his map they were drawing all over like five year olds, because then he had more reason to kick them out.<br>"Guys, boyfriend number one is here." The tallest of the group muttered, his eyes flicking up to Sherlock then quickly back to the rest of the team. The brunette at the back froze to the spot but the rest masked any surprise well. Sherlock stalked forward.  
>"John is not here, therefore there is no reason for any of you to be. Get out." He growled, his eyes flicking to each member. The large man he knew, Steve or something. He was in a few of John's army photos, and more drunken escape tails. The consulting detective flicked to each of the others in turn, <em>ex-military, ex-military, Jim's client- <em>  
>"Except you." He finished, grabbing Victor by the scruff. "You, I want words with."<p>

Victor tried to run but it was no use, he couldn't break the grip of Holmes. The ex-military soldiers watched, ready to break the two apart if needed but not willing to just yet. They didn't know who Victor was, after all, and this was a good way to learn about the man.  
>"I didn't force him to stay." Victor snivelled, still trying to squirm out of the too-strong grip around his neck. "I didn't force him to leave either. I was asleep when he left, he could've stayed the night, or left with Moriarty." The grip tightened.<br>"You were the last person to see him. He is gone, kidnapped, I don't know where and I don't know who." Victor's breath was running short now, his mouth hung open as he tried to rasp shallow trickles of oxygen into his system. Sherlock didn't stop though. "If we're too late, I will kill you." The client froze.  
>"Buh-" He tried to say.<br>"Oh, I will kill whoever is responsible first, but I will come for you and you will die. The only reason you're not dying now is because John would find out." Victor was sure that if he put his mind to it, Sherlock would be able to kill him without his partner's knowledge but he was not going to alert him to this.

The pressure released and Victor sagged to the floor.  
>"Was there any need for that?" Jim asked, as he stepped through the doorway. He himself wanted to kill the toerag but he saw the chance to grasp the moral high ground and he was going to take it. Sherlock glared at him.<br>"If John hadn't been with him, you'd have blown up the building." The detective snipped. "I know explosives when I see them." Jim shrugged.  
>"I had to keep up my M.O. for the police, didn't I? They still think I'm just a mad bomber."<br>"They know who you are, I told them after the pool incident." Sherlock replied. Jim gave him a wink.  
>"Yes but they haven't seen me do anything else so my file is still labelled as the Mad Bomber. You're not all that influential over the Yard really."<br>"And you're not all that influential over John." The consulting detective sniped.

Steve decided that enough was enough, when John had told him about the two mad genii, he didn't expect them to bicker like four year olds.  
>"Look, you to fighting is not going to get John back so either come and help us or go play your power games somewhere else." He ordered. Both men stopped insulting each other and turned to face him, Steve felt a cold chill as he realised they looked exactly like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.<br>"I don't believe that this is your flat, you don't have the right to kick us out." Sherlock stated. "Furthermore, Ex-military Friend Number One, we have made more leeway in finding John in half an hour than you could get in three weeks."  
>"I would like to add that if Johnny Boy were able to contact someone, it would be me or Sherlock, and he hasn't. So how do you lot know he's missing?"<p>

"We know John." Tim answered. "The police wouldn't help us, they said that a hunch is not enough to base a missing person report on. Plus it's not even been a day yet."  
>"But we know that when John is kidnapped we might not have a day before he's no longer with us." Steve continued. Sherlock nodded, well in Afghanistan that was probably the case. Medics were often the ones targeted.<br>"That's all well and good, but this isn't the battlefield." Moriarty butt in. Steve raised an eyebrow.  
>"Is it not?" He questioned, looking around at the room with poorly concealed bullet holes and wall paper hanging loose from what was probably a knife being dragged across the wall. "Because it sure looks like one to me."<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

**AN-** Okay, this is a slightly violent chapter. Just a little warning for you all. Someone really should take the gun away from Moran until he's learned not to be a bastard.

B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>John didn't know what he expected but it wasn't this. There was a gun pressed squarely to his chest, he was sure that he would have more time that this to get himself out. The soldier fought hard to maintain a level head.<br>"Will they still love you with a hole in your chest?" Moran asked. The gun moved down lower, to point at his crotch. "What about a hole here? Then they can both have you at the same time." John bit his tongue to stop himself from blanching. He stared down the sniper, he was not afraid of bullet holes.

_Bang._

The soldier was breathless, his ears were ringing again. Pain had been forced off of his mind in a whoosh of adrenaline. He was supposed to be looking for something; John couldn't quite remember what it was. On a whim, he looked down to find a bloody mess. For some reason, the mess looked strange to him. The soldier frowned as he tried to puzzle out what was wrong with the wound. As it hit him like a freight train, a voice sliced through his concentration.  
>"As if there's any point making a hole there, you won't be getting out alive." The voice sounded bored. John's euphoria came to a sudden halt as he realised he had a bullet lodged in his abdomen somewhere and was now bleeding profusely from two sections of his body. The pain set in a millisecond later and he nearly blacked out from the force of it.<p>

John's realisation was followed by a sudden dread, he had to move now or he wouldn't be getting out alive.

* * *

><p>Steve was worried. They had managed to stop Sherlock and Jim from fighting but now they were wholly focused on getting John back. Seeing them wholly focused was something that he hoped he never witnessed again. The TV had been turned into a computer monitor, to which Jim had brought up his network. The laptops were spread out across the room, with different images and videos. The two genii were flicking from screen to screen, point out little insignificant bits of what they saw and deduced mountains. Steve and John's other friends were trapped in the hailstorm, unable to get a word in edgeways but unwilling to leave.<p>

"-this was precise, the kidnapped had to know exactly where John would be. Or where to find him-" Sherlock whipped round to face Victor. "Who were you with when John saved your worthless life?" He growled. Victor offered an affronted look.  
>"I am not wor-" The glares he received from the two genii halted his tongue. "Uh… I don't know." He finished lamely. Jim raised an eyebrow.<br>"You don't know. Someone has tied you to a chair with all intents and purposes of killing you and you don't know who it is?" Victor shook his head, the whole night was a bit fuzzy, probably due to the vast extent of alcohol he'd consumed afterwards.  
>"I think I was set up." He answered. "Because I got a text from you to go to some house for something so I did. Then I was jumped and taken to the basement. Some guy started shouting questions at me, I had no idea what they wanted. Then John showed up and shot the bloke."<p>

Jim Moriarty had become very quiet as his client was speaking. Tim noticed and took a step back, he knew a coiled snake when he saw one. The criminal's lip curled up into a snarl, there was only one man who knew enough about his organisation to contact Victor feigning to be him.  
>"Moran." Sherlock stopped everything he was about to say to Victor and turned to the consulting criminal.<br>"Moran?" He asked, the pieces of the puzzle slotting in place. Why they hadn't thought of him before, of course Sherlock knew. He was not kidnapping John to get at them, he had a grudge against John himself. The detective scowled, an expression mirrored on Moriarty's face; they'd both automatically decided that they had to be the cause. And that had cost them twelve hours.

"Is Watson's life in immediate peril?" Steve asked. Sherlock glared at Moriarty.  
>"Yes. Moran is a sniper, one who was dishonourablely discharge-"<br>"You're talking about _that _Moran. Sebastian Moran? Crazy sniper that never followed orders and liked shooting people a little too much?" Connor butt in. The detective nodded.  
>"This would also be the 'crazy sniper' that Moriarty left alone with John once before." Sherlock growled. "And we both know how that turned out." The detective's heckles were raised now, his attentions turned to the consulting criminal. Jim's lip had curled into a snarl once more.<br>"Enough!" Steve ordered. He was not about to let the two men sink back into petty squabbling while John's life was on the line. "You can leave the bickering until we get John back or I swear I will kick you both out."

Both men looked as though they were going to complete disregard the threat but something made them hold back, something probably John related.  
>"Right. We will get back to the plan then." Steve sighed, turning his gaze to the table were the map lay. Moriarty set to tracking Moran, both through the security tapes and by using some other kind of tracker that the ex-military soldier guessed was a phone GPS but couldn't be certain. After hearing John's stories, he wouldn't put it past this 'Jim' to install tracking devices into his workers. Perhaps without their knowledge. Going by the sheer amount of equipment just in the room they know resided in, he could probably pull it off too.<p>

* * *

><p>John made sure not to give a single tell that he was about to move. He looked up sluggishly, taking in any weakness he could, then he attacked. As he did, the soldier yanked the blade from his shoulder and lunged forwards with it. His feet were still bound to the chair so he could only go downwards but that was okay as he would take the sniper down with him. The doctor felt the blade in his hand penetrate the skin and then hit bone before the handle flew out of his hand, Moran sank to the floor clutching at the gash. John cursed, he'd been aiming to slide the knife between Sebastian's ribs and puncture a lung or perhaps get the heart if he was lucky. Still, any wound should slow the sniper down for a bit. John went to grab the rope around his ankles, managing to loosen them up a bit before he had to bring his arms back up to defend the blows from his attacker.<p>

The doctor noticed the gun on the floor, it had flung from Moran's grip when he'd been tackled to the floor and now was out of reach for the both of them. For the moment anyway. John pushed himself so he was on top of the sniper, his legs pinned Sebastian's arms to his side and as he was still attached to the chair, the criminal couldn't pull his legs apart and escape. That did stop Moran from trying though, kicking at both his legs and those of the chair to try and get them to break. John threw all the punch which landed squarely on the criminals nose. The crack resounded through the room, closely followed by a howl. In the corner of his eye, the soldier saw the blade was with arms reach. He didn't even have to thick before the blade was securely in his grip again.

There were many things that John could have said at this point, many ways he could have gloated and prolonged the time taken so he could further relish in the death of this foul being. He didn't. John just stabbed down, this time the blade sliced through the muscle between the ribs and hit vital organs. The soldier didn't leave it to chance, he dragged the dagger back out and slammed it down again. He stabbed and stabbed until he couldn't physically lift his arm any more. John brought the blade down and cut himself free of the chair then collapsed onto the cooling corpse, too tired to move. The blade fell from his grip and he couldn't quite find the will to pick it back up again.

* * *

><p>The Baker Street Crew had formulated a plan to get John out. Jim had narrowed down possible locations to three sites and from there they had deduced which of the three was most probable. There was to be no outside help, the people in the room where both the break out team and the backup. Steve was in charge of the overall mission, which came as a surprise to himself especially- he had been certain that Sherlock or Jim would have taken control but they seemed content to just let him lead. Connor had the position of sniper and lookout, he would be on the rooftop opposite. Oddly enough, there were infrared goggles and sniper kit in the flat, no one asked questions. Tim was to be outside as well, but he was by the door. Sherlock and Jim were the ones who would go in. When Steve had asked them whether they had done anything like this before, they just laughed.<p>

With everything set, the crew made to leave Baker Street but their path was blocked by an elderly woman in a purple cardigan. Steve knew she was the landlady but other than that she just looked like an ordinary old lady. What was odd was that both Sherlock and Jim treated her with the utmost respect, something that they didn't seem to bother with when faced with anyone else.  
>"John's gotten himself in trouble again, hasn't he?" She asked, though it was clear she knew the answer. The crew looked around the room, unable to meet her gaze. "That man is the greatest good either of you will ever come across. Lord knows he puts up with your destructive behaviour, Sherlock. And you Jim, well I can hear just fine in my old age and I know what you put him through." Jim was about to say something but thought the better off it and scratched the nape of his neck. Mrs Hudson nodded once. "So we're clear then." She hummed. "You two will look after him properly and treat him properly because he deserves it. Now, before you go on your little mission, I've packed you some tarts." Sherlock began to protest but he was shot down instantly. "You have not eaten in three days." Mrs Hudson admonished, forcing the box into his arms. There was nothing more to be said, not if they wanted to leave anytime soon, the box could be discarded later anyway.<p>

Jim lead the way through the back streets, taking the same route as Moran had most likely taken so to avoid the CCTV. Well Jim wasn't entirely certain that his second in command couldn't view his security footage, the man had access to pretty much everything. They also didn't want to alert the British Government to their escape, just in case Mycroft decided to halt their progress in the hope that John perished before they arrived. There was no doubt that the elder Holmes knew of John's imprisonment, he knew everything that went on in the city. Sherlock swallowed the anger at his brother and turned his full attention to the task in hand. The detective took a leap between two rooftops, his enemy-turned-associate following him in a heartbeat. Tim, Connor and Steve skidded to a halt, nearly falling into each other and flying over the edge, down into the alleyway between. Sherlock and Jim turned, confused. John had never had a problem with rooftop chases, they'd thought it was an army thing. Apparently not.

The ex-military group gave each other apprehensive glances, making the mistake of looking down into the alleyway. It was a long way down and ended in a very hard landing. On the other side, Sherlock and Jim were looking at them with folded arms. They weren't going to wait much longer and Steve knew that going against the plan in such situations often ended with fatalities.  
>"Right lads, looking like we're taking flying lessons." He said, taking several steps away from the edge. Before he could be told that it was a very bad idea, or talk himself out of it, Steve ran. For a moment he thought he'd miss-stepped and his heart fluttered but the tiles met his foot and he took his chance to leap. It wasn't as graceful as the first two men but he managed it. Two thumps beside him alerted him to his friends joining them on the next rooftop as well.<br>"Took your time." Sherlock grunted. Then they were running again.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN- **It's a bank holiday today! Which means no school. Sadly it doesn't mean no revision so I'm adding this then getting to work.  
>Enjoy.<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>Victor stood in Baker Street with Mrs Hudson by his side. She was a lovely woman really, he hadn't expected such an elderly woman to have…vigour. Still, he wasn't really paying attention to her ramblings because he had a job to do. It wasn't as action packed as the others, but it was still important. First, he was set to checking the CCTV, and alerting the rest of any changes, the second was to make sure that some government man who apparently had access to all the cameras was kept busy. This was more fun, as it meant messing with CCTV as it appeared. Victor wasn't the best hacker in the world, but he was good enough to delete sections of film in other parts of London to take away suspicion from the areas which the group were actually heading.<p>

* * *

><p>In a mainly abandoned area of London's outskirts, where the police didn't even bother answering distress calls, stood an old building with boarded windows. It wasn't a warehouse, as that was the type of building most commonly searched by forces in kidnapping cases. Instead, it was a detached, two storey house with concealed basement without windows to the outside. Perfect place for hiding things that stray law enforcement didn't need to know. Sherlock checked that Connor was on the rooftop opposite, nodding to the man before turning to Tim.<br>"You need to stay here." He said. "This is the only exit which is in use, there are no other ways out of the building." Tim nodded, getting into position by the door and putting his ear plug in.  
>"Give me word when you're coming out or you'll be without a face." He said, jokingly. Steve smiled, back on their first tour Tim was a bit trigger happy and once almost shot a comrade in the face. It had become sort of a joke since. Sherlock looked warily at the weapon in Tim's hand, Steve decided he'd done that 'deducing' thing that John had been talking about.<p>

They filed into the house one at a time, each individually checking any rooms to make sure they were going to be ambushed. Jim had been certain that they would have the element of surprise and the house didn't have anything that was obviously out of place. That said, there was an eerie silence. Jim hadn't put in soundproofing as anything loud was done in the basement which had no direct link with the outside world. That and the fact that the surrounding area was almost entirely abandoned. Still, even he had to admit that it was a little quiet.

Jim padded to the door which lead to the basement, it had been flung open and a red substance clung to the pale blue carpet underneath it. The criminal shot Sherlock a glance and gestured for the detective to take the lead. Gun in hand, the detective complied, taking the steps quickly but moving with inhuman grace that meant there wasn't a single creak. He ignored any looks of badly disguised horror from the larger male behind him in favour of following the trail of blood spatter on the floor. The further he trailed after the red stains, the more his mind tore at him. Such a lot of blood, too much, He wasn't sure that anyone would be able to survive after losing this amount. Especially not smaller-than-average males. A lot of blood also meant that there was either a multitude of injuries or the injuries were serious. Of course, it could also be a mix of the two but whatever the reason, it didn't bode well.

The blood stopped by an open door. Sherlock didn't wait a second before entering. He saw a blond man face down and his brain disconnected. Jim crowded in beside him. He was saying something but the detective couldn't hear him, he was too busy looking at the blood on the floor and the blond man lying in it. A claw-like hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and shook him back into reality.  
>"It's not John, it's Moran." The words had some effect but Sherlock's heart hadn't returned to its normal pattern, his mind was not entirely willing to accept it yet.<br>"Not dead." He said, his voice hollow and devoid of intelligence.

* * *

><p>John opened his eyes, his was dimly aware of peril. Mainly the peril he was currently lying on. The soldier in him was well and truly in command as he slowly lifted himself off of the cold corpse, taking the knife with him. John rummaged around the pockets and found his phone in a zipped one, then he took the jacket, wrapping it tightly around his middle. His shoulder was bleeding too, a fact he noted as he felt the blood against his skin. John ripped Moran's shirt and wrapped it across himself and under his arm. It would do but not for long. The soldier marched out of the cell, a shoot pain flew from his right ankle with every step but he persevered. He could feel the scabbed skin on his thighs tearing and more blood trickled down his legs. His fingers flicking across his phone as he went into the contacts. When he found the name he was looking for, the doctor pressed the call button. On the fourth ring, he was answered.<br>"Yes Mike. I need a favour, no questions asked if you don't mind. You're going to need medical supplies and lots of them. Also, I'll need picking up."

Mike had agreed to come and fetch him, well he didn't really have a choice in the matter. John told him the street name and the postcode then waited for his old friend to arrive. The night was cold and the soldier was aware of dark clouds creeping over his brain. He was holding them back the best he could but every so often they slipped further in and he felt a little more lost than before. A car, old and rusting in places but still perfectly drivable, stopped by the roadside. John forced his head to look up.  
>"Jesus, John. What happened to you?" Mike asked, leaning over the open the passenger door. The soldier gave him a stern look and his friend raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, no questions." He said.<p>

The car was warm, verging on hot but John wasn't really aware of that. He looked behind and saw the medical supplies littering the back seat.  
>"I'm taking you to Barts." Mike said. He held firm as the soldier glared at him. "No, hear me out. You've got some serious injuries and I'm not qualified or capable of dealing with them. I'm a teacher now, a lecturer. But I've got a few mates, surgeons, who owe me one. I've called them and they're prepping theatre now at Barts. They'll fix you up off the books and put you in an unused ward on the third floor while you heal. Okay?" John grimaced, it wasn't the best course of action but it was the only one open to him at this point. Mike was right about not being capable, there was a bullet still lodged somewhere inside him and God knows what kind of mess his shoulder was in.<p>

* * *

><p>At Bart's, Mike pulled the car round to a back entrance were a group of three were waiting.<br>"He'll need a shower before," Mike said as he got out. "And watch out, he's in quite a state." The surgeons had seen many 'states' before, they were used to broken bones, cut arteries, blood everywhere. What they weren't use to seeing was a man with serious injuries still up and walking. The sight of this blond man, blood soaked and almost deathly white with one arm dangling lifelessly at his side, still moving with calm assurance was frightening.  
>"There's a bullet in my abdomen somewhere." The man said as though he were talking about someone else. "My shoulder was stabbed with a knife, this one to be precise." He showed them the blade that he had taken from the scene. "I have had injury to this shoulder once before, that was a bullet, so do the best you can with it, I'm not expecting miracles. I think my ankle's fractured and my legs were attacked with acid, not that there's anything you can do about that one." The group nodded and ushered him into the building.<p>

The next thing that John was aware of was the cold water of a chemical shower, somewhere in the back of his mind said that he must be near the labs, they had such showers in case people came into contact with the dangerous chemicals used in tests. The soldier allowed himself to be towed to a bed, he lay down on instruction and offered his arm when they asked. Everything had become so fuzzy, he wasn't sure who these people were but they seemed to be trying to help him. And the large one who waited nervously at the edge of the room was familiar in some way, John didn't know but he felt like he could trust the man. He could trust all of them. His eyes closed and the world fell into a dark void.

* * *

><p>Mike watched the surgery from the observation window, usually such a big task would be done with five staff inside but they would have to make do with three. He thought briefly about calling Sherlock and letting him know where John was and what was going on but eventually decided against it. If John had wanted Sherlock to know then he would have told him, there was a chance that he already had and the bastard didn't think it was important, but it wasn't Mike's job to do it. And he definitely didn't want to ensue the wrath of John Watson for doing it. In the operating theatre, they had successfully removed the bullet and had tied up any blood vessels there but there was still the shoulder to sort. Mike wringed the hem of his shirt, his mind going into overdrive. What if they failed? Someone would have to tell Sherlock then and that person would probably end up dead. The machines flatlined inside and Mike's blood ran cold. He slipped down the wall to hold his knees. <em>I should have forced him to go to hospital properly. <em>The man thought. _I should have made sure he had the best chance to survive, he's going to die in there and it's my fault. I'm going to get gutted by Sherlock when I tell him._

A steady 'bip' noise compelled him to look back into the theatre to see that they had managed to bring the blond soldier back again. Mike let out a choked sob of relief, pressing his sweaty forehead against the cool glass separating him from his friend. It wasn't over yet but John was a fighter, he would pull through.

* * *

><p>Jim looked at the corpse of his second in command. There was some kind of odd feeling inside, not emotion due to the person but more like losing one's favourite jumper -in that he knew he could just get a new one but somehow it wouldn't feel the same. It was clear that the bloody puddle was mainly Morans but not all of it, a chair lay on its side, also covered in blood and across the room was a puddle not connected to that which the sniper was lying in. Still, John had managed to walk out and they didn't seen him on the road so perhaps he'd survived the ordeal.<br>"Right." He sighed, turning away from his dead second in command. "Let's search the house."

The house was fashioned well, despite being bordered up. It was one which Moriarty had been in the process of renovating for use as another safe house, while in renovation he used it as a holding facility for people who had crossed him. The basement was big enough and far enough away from civilisation that they wouldn't be heard so it was perfect. Jim and Steve went back up into the main house, leaving Sherlock to look around the basement. The detective scowled at the back of the two men then stepped into the small room. Moran had been dead a little over two hours, judging by the state of him and how much blood had seeped into the concrete. He made his way over to the chair and picked it up, his eyes going immediately to the blood-stained back around a thin slit cut into the wood. He cocked his head as the pieces of the puzzle whirred round his head. The detective stopped and looked back down at the chair.  
>"He may have been alive when he left the room but he wasn't uninjured." He said into the com. The detective took pictures of the chair, the room, Moran and filed them away for further use later. There wasn't time to look around properly, not now their knowledge of the situation had changed.<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

**AN-** Less than a month to go until my exams now. It's a tad scary...

* * *

><p>White tiles. That was the first thing John saw when he opened his eyes. There was something on him, something soft and a steady bip counted slowly. The doctor took a breath, his thoughts coming back to him in a steady stream. He couldn't stay here, that much he knew, but he wasn't sure if he was fit enough to leave.<br>"John, you're awake." A voice said, confused. John smiled, he couldn't see the person but the voice sounded familiar. _Mike, _his head provided for him.  
>"Sorry to disappoint." The soldier said, not a hint of humour in his voice. "Report?"<br>"They had to revive you once but the bullet was out, you're all sewn up and there weren't any more complications. They couldn't do anything about the burns on your legs but they've splinted your ankle. You really need to get that checked out. I'm not even going to start on the bruising, you have a fractured rib and severe muscle damage around your abdomen. I really don't know how you were walking with this." Mike said, moving into view. John nodded. "Really, you should be staying in for two weeks, minimum."

At this, John shook his head.  
>"Not acceptable, my mission is time sensitive." He said, looking at the pain relief console and turning it right down. The man he knew to be his friend looked at him sternly but sighed.<br>"I know, but at least stay for today. I can't force you to stay here, I mean no one actually knows that you are here apart from me and the nurse who brought you up." He answered. The soldier pursed his lips, he was still in a hostile situation, he could not afford to be found. But he was more likely to further injure himself and get caught that way.  
>"I shall stay for the remainder of the day." John said, deciding that he would have a better chance of removing from the base unseen in the dark. A better chance of completing the mission. Mike left him, lips pursed as though he wanted to argue further but knew it was no use.<p>

Pain. Oh Lords the pain. John's breath left him in one quick burst as the last of the pain relief exited his system. He scrambled for the pain relief console and turned it up half way. The drugs flooded into his system, dulling the mind-numbing agony that wrecked his body. John breathed in gulps of air, almost sobbing in relief. The mission was still first priority but there was no way he would be able to complete it if he were unable to walk. So the soldier decided that he would keep the drugs, and deal with any problems which arose because of them as they came. John noticed a bottle of tablets on the bedside table. He reached over slowly, twinging at the pain across his shoulder, and grabbed the bottle bringing it back to study the label. Pain medication. No doctor would even think about leaving a bottle like this in a patient's room. The soldier allowed a small smile and set about preparing for leaving. His clothes were in the corner of the room, along with a new shirt that was a bit small but didn't have a bloody knife wound.

* * *

><p>Mike walked out of the room and back down to the morgue, Molly smiled at him. He hadn't told her but he wanted to, she would know what to do. Molly was a very smart woman, smarter than people gave her credit for.<br>"Are you okay?" She asked in her mousey voice. Mike nodded with a tight smile.  
>"Yeh, yeh. I'm fine." He answered, waving his hand. "Ready for a holiday, you know?" The woman nodded, though she barely ever took holidays, through choice. It was probably Sherlock related, no one ever questioned it because she was usually rather touchy on the subject. Mike chewed his lip, he could just tell her, she wouldn't tell anyone if he asked her not to. But the link with Sherlock was strong, the detective only had to ask and she'd do anything. He was the exception in everything. The taste of blood alerted the lecturer to the fact that he had bitten his lip hard enough to split the skin.<p>

* * *

><p>It took a large amount of self control for Sherlock to leave the body of Sebastian Moran intact. He dragged himself out of the room and went back to meet up with Jim and Steve who were still searching the rest of the house, if the scuffling of feet above him were to be believed. The detective entered a room which had been kitted out to be a surveillance room. Jim was staring at one of the screens with great interest, from the looks of it he hadn't moved for a while.<br>"What have you found?" Sherlock asked as he stepped closer. Moriarty didn't move.  
>"I have brought back the deleted messages from Moran's email. An account I didn't know about, astoundingly." He sounded annoyed. The detective scoffed.<br>"You mean to tell me your pet had a life? I thought he was only there to kill off people who got too irritating." Jim scowled at him but didn't reply. Instead, he brought up the next deleted email and went eerily still as he read the message.

Sherlock took out his com and read the email over his enemies shoulder. It wasn't long before he realised the cause of Jim's distress.  
><em>-It seems that you are in need of a little help. Now the government is not in the business of providing assistance to kidnappers. However; there will be a limited time tomorrow morning when the positions of London CCTV will be public knowledge. Perhaps you will find this information of use-<br>_The email continued for a few more paragraphs but it added nothing of value. Sherlock clenched his fist. It seemed that his brother was still hell bent on getting rid of John, even after the conversation with mummy that had occurred several months ago.

"_Mycroft, how could you?"  
>"Mummy, it is in his best interest, that Watson is a snake."<br>"I don't care. Sherlock loves him and I like him. You will stop this petulant behaviour now."  
>"But he's bringing danger right to Sherlock's doorstep."<br>"Sherlock brings danger wherever he goes and he is more than capable of looking out for it. I know, I taught him a lot of it. I'm serious, Mikey, you leave that poor man alone. No wonder Sherlock never had any friends when he was younger, you kept going round bullying them so that they'd stay away."_

It had ended in Mycroft being forced to promise not to interfere anymore, the detective never got to hear what Mummy's threat had been but they were usually spectacular. Still, all this did nothing to help them find where John had gone to. Sherlock sighed and spoke to Jim, completely forgetting the com which was still out of rang to pick up his voice.  
>"Okay, I think we've seen enough. Back to Baker Street."<p>

* * *

><p>John had gone when Mike returned later that evening, just after finishing his night classes. The lecturer couldn't say that he was surprised, according to the nurse who had brought his friend up, he had left as soon as it was dark. Mike quickly arranged for everything to be cleaned and put back in storage then went back down to Molly. Now that John had been gone a couple of hours, he had no qualms in telling her what had happened. She always did know best, after all.<br>"Molly…" The mousy woman turned around.  
>"Hello again, Mike." She said, slightly confused. "Shouldn't you been home by now?" Mike scratched the back of his neck.<br>"Er… Night classes." He answered. "But that's not what I'm here about." He paused, biting his lip. "You know this morning?" The woman nodded. "Well there was something I had wanted to talk about but I couldn't really have done it then. I can now though." Mike said, knowing it sounded lame.  
>"What are you talking about?" Molly asked with a giggle. The lecturer took a breath.<br>"John phoned me and asked me to pick him up last night. He was in a state, I'll tell you. He had blood everywhere. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Then he asks me to have him patched up outside of normal operations, you know, so it's not recorded. I called in a favour and did it. He had a bullet lodged in his abdomen and some kind of knife wound in his shoulder and he was covered in bruises and rope burn and stuff. He'd also got a strained ankle but I don't think he'd noticed over everything else wrong. Anyway, we took him up to the third floor, the one under maintenance, and he stayed there today but now he's gone. He said he would. To be honest, that's not the worst bit, he's talking weird, like I'm not sure if he got a concussion or something but he's speaking like he's back in the army again. Kept talking about a 'mission'."

Mike knew he was babbling but Molly listened to every word he had to say with the quiet look of consideration often found on her face. When he had finished, she remained silent for several minutes.  
>"I think we need to tell Sherlock." She said finally. "It sounds like John might be suffering from his PTSD. Did he say where he was going?" Mike shook his head. Molly picked up her phone and pressed the speed dial.<p>

* * *

><p>The street was cold but that didn't matter. John knew where several of the street cameras were, and with it being dark he was able to go unnoticed through most but time was of the essence. With the sniper dead he would have to go right to the top or else the whole organisation would crumble down around him. John couldn't risk that, he had a squad that depended on him, depended on this mission being a success. The soldier cursed as he realised he had no weapon, the knife he had possessed was taken by Dr Stamford, probably just before his surgery. This mission required him to be armed, it was dangerous for one thing, the other was that at least one casualty was guaranteed. John wracked his brain for a somewhere close by that he could arm himself.<p>

Before he could think of somewhere, the soldier ducked into an alleyway as two uniformed police officers passed him. He had only the clothes which had been left in the room by the Dr Stamford, clothing which was deemed 'too cold' to be wearing at this time of night by society's standards. Though the likelihood of him being asked too many questions was low, John didn't have the time to spare if by chance they did, better to just let them pass. As he pressed his back to the wall, his foot hit something on the floor. John looked down to see a half rusted blade on the concrete, glinting dully in orange lamp light. The soldier smiled at his good fortune and grabbed the knife, tucking it up his sleeve. The pain buzzed in the back of his mind and John's hands fumbled for the small bottle in his jeans pocket. He tore open the seal and took out a pill, swallowing it dry.

* * *

><p>Back in 221B, Sherlock paced the floor with his hands constantly moving, fluttering from in being held together front of him to behind him in his back pockets then back again. It was obvious that John had been picked up by a car, the blood trail ended at the pavement, but with no CCTV footage or witnesses, it was impossible to say what car and where they went. The rest of the group was keeping their distance from the pacing man, mainly because he looked like he was going to punch the first thing and stood in front of him. Sherlock wasn't paying them any attention as he wore a hole in the floor, becoming more and more frustrated with each step. He should know where John had gone, he should know. The facts were all there before him, why couldn't he just piece the evidence together? What was wrong with him?<p>

From across the room, Sherlock's phone blared into life. The detective leapt out of his skin, then he covered himself by scowling at the offending object. He made no move to get it, however, and after a few rings, Jim grit his teeth and grabbed the mobile.  
>"What?" He snapped into the receiver.<br>"Uh… Jim? Is that you?" Molly squeaked on the other end. Jim blinked, he had not heard that voice in a long time.  
>"Yes." He answered, realising just how thick he sounded milliseconds too late to stop himself.<br>"Ah. Okay." The woman replied awkwardly, "Well it's about John." Jim held the phone out to Sherlock, not willing to stay on the line a moment longer.  
>"It's about John." He said by explanation. Sherlock snatched the phone in seconds.<p>

Molly relayed the information that Mike had given her. The detective seethed down the phone, he didn't speak a single word but she could tell how angry he was, not speaking in itself was a big clue. As soon as she'd finished speaking, he ended the call. No 'thank you', not even an acknowledgement that she had spoken. Molly sighed, wondering why she subjected herself to these kinds of men. Speaking of men, why was Jim there? The mousy woman frowned as she puzzled this piece of information over. After all, Jim was Moriarty, the mad bomber, the mass murdering psychopath. Why was he in possession of Sherlock's phone, with Sherlock present? It didn't seem to make much sense. Perhaps it had something to do with John. Molly's mouth flicked into a small smile as she realised that the only think that could get Sherlock worked up like this was John.

* * *

><p>John hauled himself up the metal external fire exit stairs and slipped into the large building via a window someone had left open thinking that no one would think to climb through on the fifth storey. He held the rusted knife up his sleeve, feeling the weight behind it in his hand. The corridors were confusing, each one leading to another and another, with various doors which hid unknown rooms. John passed them by, there was only one room he was after. Though he wasn't conscious the last time he'd been dragged through it, he knew what to look for.<p>

The door was solid wood and kept immaculately. It was perfectly symmetrical, without even the slightest hint of a flaw. John readied his weapon, dropping it down into his hand, then he opened the door.  
>"Athena, I've said no visitors." The man sighed, his face hidden by a computer screen. John closed the door behind him and clicked the lock in place. He walked forwards, the rest of the room a haze around him, only one other thing existed and that was the target.<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

**AN- **Well this one is a bit of a biggie, so sorry about that.  
>Enjoy<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>Behind John, the door rattled as someone tried to force it open. The racket caused the target to raise his head, there were bags under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in two weeks. His ovements were poised but sluggish, as though each one took too much energy to carry out.<br>"JOHN!" A muffled cry resounded from the other side of the door. The soldier paid no attention to it as he continued on his forward path.  
>"JOHN!" There were two voices outside the door and the pounding was no so hard that the wooden rattled in its' frame. John stopped moving when he was stood right in front of the target, with only the desk between them. The soldier readied his knife, sliding it down into position. He didn't attack though.<p>

The target remained still for a long time but eventually he began to fidget.  
>"If you're going to kill me, do it quickly. This toying is grating on my last nerve." The government official groaned, rubbing his temple. John didn't reply. He held the knife, feeling the rough rust under his fingertips. Then he lunged forwards and stabbed down.<p>

_You're a doctor, not an assassin  
>I'm a soldier too.<br>An army doctor, you still saved people.  
>Bad days, remember?<br>Never this bad._

John blinked, looking at the mess which lay before him. The rusty knife had pierced the keyboard of Mycroft's computer, completely severing a few keys in the process. The government official was completely still, his eyes stuck fast to the blade which had been so close to protruding out of his thigh. Breathing heavily, the doctor regained his composure. He rummaged through his pockets, taking out the bottle again and taking two more pills to stop his knees from shaking from the pain.  
>"I will not kill you." He said with a certainty that hadn't been in his voice for a long time. "But come anywhere near me again and I swear I will make your life hell. You might be in the government but that will not stop me." The soldier straightened up, lifting his chin high as he marched to the door and opened it, allowing the two genii to sprawl across the floor.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock looked up in confusion as he realised his brother was still breathing, he didn't question it however; he wasn't about to plant the thought in John's head. It's not that he would be upset if John killed Mycroft, it was just that he would have to put up with the wrath of Mummy if it happened. His flatmate stood towering over him and Jim.<br>"And you two are no better. Sherlock, you can't keep me locked up because you don't want me exposed to danger, I've been exposed to danger all my life and it will find me no matter what you try. Jim, I am not play dough, you cannot mould me into whatever shape you want. I am my own man, not who you try to make me out to be."

After a few moments silence, John held his hands out, one to each of the men on the floor, and helped them to their feet. Without a glance at the still frozen elder Holmes brother, John lead his partners out of the building, not letting go of either of them all the way home.

* * *

><p>Way across the other side of London, the army group and Victor sat twiddling their thumbs. Sherlock and Jim had run off without so much as a word to them, leaving them completely in the dark as they disappeared into the city. If it hadn't have been for Tim watching them from his crow's nest, they wouldn't have realised the two had even left. Steve huffed,<br>"I see what John was on about, they really do spin on a dime." He sighed, taking out his earpiece. Connor nodded.  
>"Do you have any idea where they'd buggered off to?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve shook his head.<br>"No, but I think they know where John is, lets head back to Baker Street and hope that they're not wrong." He replied.

* * *

><p>John, Sherlock and Jim stood in front of 221B, with an angry landlady folding her arms in a chiding mother sort of way. The men frowned, unsure as to what she was so unhappy about. There were voices from up in the flat. Sherlock groaned.<br>"Not another drugs bust." He moaned, realising he hadn't packet away anything from his 'finding John' case. Mrs Hudson shook her head.  
>"No, it's just your friends that you two left out in the middle of nowhere. Goodness gracious, how could you forget four people?" She scalded. John's frown was still very much in place.<br>"What's going on?" He asked, looking between Sherlock and his landlady. "Friends?"  
>"Mrs Hudson, as much as I know you need to get this mothering instinct off your chest, John has suffered serious injury, followed by backstreet surgery-for which I will express my full disappointment later-and has then run across half of London. I believe that therefore he is the highest priority and so if you wouldn't mind letting us in so he could sit down." Without waiting for a reply, the consulting detective barged past, dragging John with him. Jim waiting for a second then decided that he didn't want to be stood on the doorstep to face Mrs Hudson alone and followed them up.<p>

John limped inside and was met with five familiar faces.  
>"John!" They said, relieved, in almost perfect unison. He blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out why they would all be waiting for him.<br>"Uh… so why are you all here?" He asked. Steve glared at the two genii.  
>"We were helping those gits track you down." He said. "Then the bastards buggered off and left us in some abandoned house with no word of where they were going or what they were doing, so we came back here."<br>"Good thing we did, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have come looking for us." Victor added, he knew Jim well enough to know that the man's mind was a twisted place. He probably knew exactly where they were at all times but he wouldn't do anything about it until it mattered to him. John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Communication was going to be the downfall of them all.  
>"Well thank you for coming to get me." He said, fist bumping Connor. "Even if I didn't need saving." The last line was said with a cheeky voice and a wink, one which got the rest of his army group grinning.<p>

* * *

><p>The group crowded into the small living room, Sherlock and Jim on the sofa with enough space for a third person between them, Steve on one arm chair and John in the other- though he had tried to give it to everyone else in the room before sighing and taking it himself-the rest sat on the floor. Steve was in the process of telling yet another story regarding a miraculous escape of Doctor John Watson, and the hair raising tale of how they managed to finally get him back up the cliff face he decided to climb down just because the nurse said his shoulder would never regain its full mobility. It was a story that the army crew had heard many times before, Victor gazed up in awe as the large man recited his tale, with John butting in now and again to add his own insights into exactly how he ended up with a seagull on his head.<p>

"Well this has been thrilling." Sherlock announced, standing with a stretch, "But we have to get John to hospital." The room turned to look at him aghast, John included.  
>"I don't need to go to hospital." The army doctor stated. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and cast a glance to Jim to back him up. As much as the criminal loathed being on his enemies side, the man did have a point.<br>"Off-record surgery is not a good idea, even if it's done in a hospital." He said. "And you should have been on bed rest for at least two weeks after such a big surgery, you had half a day then went running around London. Not only that, but I can tell you're currently under the control of a very powerful pain relief. Even that isn't strong enough to completely mask your pain." At this, John could tell that the minds of his friends were most definitely made up and while he could take a couple of them, there was no way he could fight off all seven.  
>"Fine." He grumbled, allowing himself to be ushered out of the flat and into an awaiting taxi.<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't until John was being walked into the hospital with a genius on each arm that he wondered who phoned for the taxi, as no one had been out of his sight since he'd entered the flat or had taken a phone call. He didn't get long to think about it though, as Sherlock was already been rude to the receptionist.<br>"-clearly you can see that he's had surgery, just look at him-"  
>"Sherlock. Calm down." John ordered before turning to the now very pale woman behind the desk.<br>"I'm sorry about him, he's just a little worried. I'd like to get checked over by a doctor, just to make sure everything is okay, but we are happy to wait. The name is Doctor John Watson." The doctor said, stamping on Sherlock's foot as he began to say that he was not in the 'slightest bit happy' in order to shut him up. Karry, as the name plate read, nodded and typed quickly on the keyboard in front of her.  
>"Okay, Dr Watson, if you will take a seat I'll try and get a doctor to see you. Can I ask what the surgery was?" She enquired, seeming to be amored with the man that had saved her from the awful tongue lashing of the taller male.<br>"Sure, removal of imbedded bullet in lower abdomen and stitching of knife wound in my shoulder. There are a few other injuries which should probably be checked, I think I have a sprained ankle." John answered. This only made him more of a heroic type in the receptionists eyes, she leaned forward subconsciously, a small sympathetic smile.  
>"Oh you poor man. How long ago was that?" She asked.<br>"Two days ago." Sherlock snapped, jealousy overflowing. The woman blinked several times then picked up the phone.

Less than ten minutes later, John found himself sat shirtless in a consulting room with a man in an off-white shirt prodding at his injuries.  
>"Two days?" He said. "What compelled you to leave after two days, you shouldn't have been capable of doing so."<br>"Yeh, I opted out of aftercare." John answered. "I had something important to do."  
>"You might have pulled some of the internal stitches." He chided, pressing each stitch and watching the skin as he lifted his finger off. "And what did you say about this ankle?" John leant to take his shoe off but the doctor pushed him back with a shake of his head and did it himself, much to John's annoyance. The ankle was swollen and covered in blotchy red and blue patches. The doctor shook his head.<br>"And you've been walking around on this?" He asked.  
>"And running and possibly jumping as well." Sherlock answered for him, his voice showing just how annoyed he was. "Seriously John, you could have killed my brother at any time, I would have even gotten you into his office. You didn't have to wait until you were incapacitated."<br>"Look, you can get off your high horse." John snapped, a little harsh than he'd meant to but the pain was setting in now that his foot was being manipulated. "The amount of times I've dragged you to the clinic, to A and E or just bloody well stitched you up myself is far beyond injuries I've sustained while with you."

The doctor tried lifting the trouser leg up further to get a better look but the jeans were too tight.  
>"You're going to have to take these off." He said, pointing at the jeans. John coughed.<br>"I'd rather not, if it's all the same." He replied. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. The hospital doctor pursed his lips.  
>"Well I need to take a better look at this." He said. "And I can't raise your trouser leg far enough to do it." John sighed.<br>"Fine. Sherlock, Jim, go outside."  
>"John, we've seen you naked. You are embarrassed by me." Sherlock answered.<br>"Outside, Sherlock." John ordered.  
>"Why? What don't you want us to know?"<br>"Out." The detective scowled, not budging an inch. The hospital doctor chewed the inside of his mouth, he had other patients to get to but he really didn't want to come between the three men.  
>"Something else happened during the surgery." Sherlock stated. "What did they do?" The soldier shook his head.<p>

John became aware that Jim was typing furiously on his phone. More than a little suspicious, the blond doctor narrowed his eyes.  
>"What are you doing?" He demanded, his voice brimming with accusation. The criminal cast him a sideways glance.<br>"Checking the news." He answered casually. John scowled and hopped off the bench, striding towards him. The doctor tried to grab him and put him back down before he could further injure himself but John was having none of it. He took the criminals phone and looked at the screen to find the list of Bart's staff which were on duty when his surgery took place. The soldier switched off the internet and put the phone in his pocket.  
>"You are not killing, maiming or adversely affecting anybody who did my surgery or let me leave." He said before turning to Sherlock and demanding his phone as well. The detective grumbled but complied, shutting down whatever he had been doing before John could get a good look.<br>"And no threatening Molly either, I'll know if you do." The soldier added, making sure his stern gaze landed on both men.

It was clear that neither man was going to leave. John just wanted to get it out of the way now.  
>"Look, fine." He snapped. "But it was Moran and he's dead now so you don't get to kill anyone over it."<br>"If you feel uncomfortable, you don't have to have them in the room." The hospital doctor said in a low voice, earning him two piercing glares.  
>"No, trust me, it's probably better this way." John replied, unzipping his flies. The jeans had stuck to the burns on his legs. He hissed as the skin ripped open again. Immediately, he felt the horrified gazes of the other three men in the room.<br>"What did he _do _to you?" Jim asked, stalking forwards to get a better look at the wounds. John smiled weakly, his eyes watering.  
>"Acid." He answered. The hospital doctor took a moment to compose himself then shoed the two men away from his patient, inspecting the wound properly.<br>"Why didn't you say about this earlier?" He asked, astounded that someone with those kind of injuries could walk.  
>"Because these two would flip and I just wanted to get on with life." John said. "Look, the thing is done. I don't expect my legs will ever heal properly, so just do what you can."<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

**AN- **Well this has been a hectic two weeks. We lost our internet, still haven't been given a reason why, so I couldn't print of exam papers or the mark schemes for the papers I had. Exams start next week and we got internet back yesterday. Still, we're almost there, only a few more chapters to go now.  
>Enjoy<br>B  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>After the initial examination was complete-and a salve had been found for the leg burns, the hospital doctor had decided that John needed some proper tests, an ultrasound to check for any internal damage, an x-ray on the ankle and overnight observations. John himself did not want to go through this and was being extremely vocal about it.<br>"I am _fine. _I don't need everyone rushing around me, I can look after myself." The blond soldier asserted, trying yet again to stand from the bed he'd been assigned. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to Moriarty. Between them they had more than enough power to force him to stay but the problem with forcing a Watson was that it almost always backfired. Usually in a rather spectacular fashion.  
>"You are not leaving." Sherlock answered him. "Not until they are sure you're okay."<br>"And what are you going to do about it?" John snapped, a grin forming on his stubble covered face. That smile was soon wiped from him, however.  
>"I'll call your mother." The detective answered smoothly. John froze, his mum would flip if she found out he was trying to leave against medical advice. She was a straight forward, blunt sort of woman and she believed that if a trained group of doctors thought you needed to be in the hospital then you did and there was no questioning to be had on the matter.<br>"You wouldn't dare." He scowled. "You hate my mother, and so does Jim." Sherlock smiled darkly.  
>"Then you best stay here and save me the hassle of explaining to her how you managed to get yourself into this mess in the first place. Leaving against medical advice once will send her berserk but leaving twice?..."<p>

Sherlock left the end of his question, he didn't need to finish it to know that John wouldn't try to leave anymore. The nurse saw her chance and sifted through to John to put in the catheter and check the IV fluid levels before attaching them to it. With that sorted, the detective turned to his rival.  
>"Don't you have a new second in command to hire?" He asked. Jim glowered at him. It was obvious that the Consulting detective wanted John to himself again and Jim would be damned if he allowed that to happen. He'd get back to find them both in bed together, or worse, both out of bed together; he was taking John's condition very seriously as he'd looked at the chart and realised just how close the bullet was to a main artery. To several, in fact.<br>"I'm changing the hierarchy." He replied, standing firm. From the bed, John groaned loudly.  
>"If you two are just going to fight then you can both go away." He ordered. "This stupid thing is bad enough without having to watch you to try and rip each other to shreds." Both men looked at him, they were nowhere near 'ripping each other to shreds'. Yet.<p>

* * *

><p>Molly wasn't usually up in the areas where the public walked around, or the patients were, but she had gotten a call from the nurses. Well the medical pathologist had got talking to some of them and they were a very nice bunch of people, happy to help if they were able; as long as they were treated right. One of the nurses had called up pathology asking for Molly by name, when she answered she was greeted by a group of voices begging her to come up and help with a patient. Apparently he had Sherlock with him and another man that looked exactly like her ex. Anyway, they needed help getting the patient to go to x-ray but they couldn't because they couldn't get a word in over all the arguing. Of course, Molly said she'd come up and help. The image that assaulted her as she stepped through the door, however; was something that she'd never thought she'd ever see in her life. John was lay on the bed, looking more than slightly pissed off, with Sherlock on one side and Jim on the other. The men either side of him were glaring at each other, their mouths forced closed by the blond males hands.<br>"I said stop the fucking arguing or I swear to God I will kick you both out the window, second storey be damned." He snapped.

The group in the bed gradually became aware that there was someone standing at the doorway. John turned and froze.  
>"Molly." He greeted. "Uh… Bet you didn't expect this."<br>"Am I hallucinating?" The mousy woman asked. John shook his head.  
>"I'm afraid not. Believe me, Mols, you dodged a bullet when you got rid of this one-" John jerked his head to gesture to Jim. "And I took a bullet by getting the other. It's an absolute nightmare." His head jerked the other way to Sherlock.<br>"I see." Molly answered slowly. "Well they want you in x-ray. The nurses sent me because they couldn't hear themselves over the racket." John nodded, unhooked himself from the IV line and pushed both men out of the bed. Sherlock had expected it and managed to land somewhat gracefully. Jim, however; had been taken completely off guard, he was too busy having a silent conversation with Molly, so he landed squarely on his backside with a loud thump. John attached the IV line to its clamp and began to stand up but he was stopped by his partners.  
>"I'm not going in a wheelchair." The soldier said adamantly.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock wheeled John into the x-ray room with Jim in tow. Technically they shouldn't have been allowed in but Molly assured the nurses that she'd get them out of the room before the x-ray went off so there was no harm in letting them help the patient onto the x-ray table. This of course meant that she had the task of actually getting Sherlock and Jim out of the room. Luckily, John was there and the two men seemed to listen to him far more than they listen to her. When they were outside, Molly chewed her lip. She'd not seen Jim since she'd dumped him, he looked so different now. More confident, more…evil. Sherlock had told her that he was Moriarty, the mad bomber, and the news more than covered his evil plots.<br>"Will you stop staring at me?" Jim asked.  
>"It's just… I didn't expect to see you again. You quit when I…uh called it off. So you were actually gay? Sherlock was right?" She asked. Jim scowled.<br>"No, I wasn't. John is just… special." He replied, fuming that he was even having this conversation. Sherlock was grinning, he was having a whale of a time.

"But it's not like I'm the only one. Sherlock is going out with him too." Moriarty said, dragging the Detective into it. Molly nodded.  
>"Well duh." She giggled. "Everyone could see those two loved each other. I'm more interested in you. How's the… uhh, job?" Her voice raised several octaves on the last word. She knew he was a criminal by trade, and that was a slightly worrying concept to deal with, but he still seemed like nice. Perhaps not the same man, he looked a lot more genuine somehow, but he was still… nice.<br>"It's fine." Moriarty answered, folding his arms tightly across his chest.  
>"His second in command went AWOL from jealousy and tried to kill John." Sherlock supplied like a child tattling on another in a school. "So not only is John in hospital but Jim also has to find someone to do his dirty work for him."<br>"Oh that's rich, who was the last one who injured John badly? Oddly enough that man also has the last names Holmes." Jim snapped viciously. Sherlock stood up, affronted. Molly tried to calm the two men down but it was a futile endeavour.  
>"I've never come across a 'Moriarty' that wasn't a drain on society." The detective growled. More than slightly offended, Moriarty dragged himself to his feet too.<br>"Say that again." He threatened, squaring up to the taller male.  
>"You are a dra-"<p>

"That's enough!" John bellowed. He had heard the bickering the entire time, the walls were thick but he doubted any material in the building was thick enough to block out that. He had apologised profusively to the nurse for the ruckass going one while they took the x-rays. Now that they were all done, the soldier was going to let hell back out again.  
>"I said to stop the fucking arguments." He growled. "I will kick you both off this rooftop if you don't shut the fuck up. Not one more word from either of you." John was well aware that he was being stared at by everyone in the hallway, his two partners had gathered quite a crowd by their childish bickering. Seeming to know that they were going to get punched if they even tried speaking, both men kept quiet. John nodded and turned to Molly.<br>"Sorry you had to deal with them." He apologised again, casting a stern look in the general direction of Jim and Sherlock before hobbling back down the corridor, leaving the wheelchair behind.

* * *

><p>"Steve, I can't stay here any longer." John whispered into the phone a week after the incident in the x-ray suite. Sherlock was out cold in the chair and Jim had crawled into the bed after his enemy had dropped off but couldn't keep his own eyes open for long.<br>"They said you got a severely fractured ankle and third degree burns, you can't go for a midnight walk. You're not as young as you used to be. You need rest." Steve answered with a yawn.  
>"You're not the one strapped to the gunnery." John whined. "I'm on the second floor but there's a ledge not that far down and-"<br>"No, don't do it. Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if they found out I'd let you do that? They'd skin me!"He paused for a second. "Look, you've only got a few days left. I'll bring you some Bond films to watch and if you like we can arrange for some childcare to give you a few hours piece." John chuckled.  
>"Fine but make sure Die Another Day is in there."<p>

The next day, John was greeted with a large box getting dumped on his bed and his sleeping partners being carted out of room using a commandeered stretcher. The doctor stifled a laugh until they were far out of ear range, he had figured the idea of this was to get them as far away as possible without them waking up.  
>"You're the best." John grinned to Steve, who's smile in return was equally wide as he picked out the DVD with a bold title 'Die Another Day' on the cover.<br>"I know, I'm that good, I got everyone to pool together so we could get some other stuff for you as well." He replied, taking the disk to the DVD player and opening the drive.

The film was just as good as every other time John had watched it, he knew this particular one off by heart now but still he enjoyed every second. Steve had even managed to sneak in some crisps and popcorn, the nurses had given John a strict diet while he was in the hospital and so the blond man was starving himself. He knew firsthand how terrible hospital food was on a normal basis, he really didn't want to try the 'special' diet. They scoffed the crisps noisily, quickly hiding the bags under John's bed covers every time a nurse walked passed, before pulling them back out an stuffing a few more into their faces.  
>"You didn't have to do this, you know." John said as the end credits rolled up the screen. Steve grinned.<br>"I know, but it's what mates do." He replied, gathering up the empty packets and stuffing them in his bag. "And besides, I didn't want you getting so bored that you ended up doing one of your escapes again, can you imagine the drama that would cause?" Steve chuckled. A laugh which proved infectious as John joined in. It soon stopped, however, as he raised his gaze to see two sets of smouldering eyes in the doorway. Steve instantly froze, seeing the look on his friends face.  
>"Bugger." He swore eloquently.<p>

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><p><strong>AN- <strong>Yay, cliffhanger! Sort of. Anyway, I will try to get the next two chapters up on time but I have all my exams in the next 2 weeks. If I don't update, please be patient with me, I will put them up.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN- **Well it's been a long time, sorry for the wait but I really couldn't afford to spend time away from my studying. The exams are all done now so we're back on!

Enjoy  
>B<br>x

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><p>Something was not right. Even as Sherlock was becoming aware of his surroundings, before he had even opened his eyes, he knew that something was off. The detective felt the air current against his neck, completely different to the one in Johns' room, the smell was decidedly less clinical too, and there was the hint of food stuffs. A low humming sound filled in the silence between clicks and the low murmur of far away voices. Sherlock peeled one eye open and stare dup at the too-high ceiling. The ceiling tiles were off white and quite large, hospital standard but not for patient rooms. With no one visible, he sat up.<p>

The room was large, spacious and with a vast amount of chairs. There was a reception-style desk at one end but no one behind it. A vending machine stood by the far wall, whirring quietly to itself as it waited to be used. Sherlock scowled darkly and moved to clamber off the stretcher only to find his progress hindered by a lump half lay across his legs. He looked down, surprised that he hadn't noticed until this point, to find the dark haired criminal snoozing softly on his lower limbs. The detective pushed him off the bed, smirking as he heard the satisfying thud. Moriarty flew to his feet in milliseconds.  
>"What the fuck was that for?" He hissed, not in the least bit amused that he had ended up on the floor for a second time. Sherlock ignored him, instead getting off what he realised was not a bed but a stretcher. He looked around the room which was definitely not Johns, they were still in the hospital at least but the hospital was a large place.<p>

Jim glared for a solid minute before turning his attention to more important tasks, like figuring out what the hell had happened. He hadn't fallen asleep on a stretcher, nor had he fallen asleep in the room he now found himself in. Sherlock had already made his way to the double doors, or more precisely the small black card reader beside it.  
>"Hospitals all use these bloody things now for security." The detective said bitterly as his hands nimbly searched for a way to remove the black casing to get to the wires. Jim knelt down beside him but it was soon made apparent that his presence was not wanted. He left Sherlock to work on the box and went to look around the room. It was well furbished, not dusty, and had all the makings of a waiting room currently in use. Except for the distinct lack of people. Not finding anything that stuck out as a reason for the abandoned room, Jim went back to snigger at his enemy who swore profusely at the box as he resorted to using force to pull the black casing off of the wall. The criminal leant against the door, with a smug smile firmly in place, and promptly fell through.<p>

The humiliation of being on the floor for the third time was just about the most Jim Moriarty could handle. He brushed himself off angrily.  
>"How did you not know the door was open?" He hissed.<br>"I assumed it was locked." Sherlock snarled back, an embarrassed blush painting his cheeks red.  
>"And you didn't think to check?" Jim snapped. The detective shot him a death glare.<br>"I assumed it was locked." He repeated, heckles raised. As much as Moriarty wanted to continue arguing, he wanted to get back to John even more. He was certain that John himself wasn't to blame for this, but he would definitely know who was.

The two men set out, though they soon realised that in this part of the hospital every corridor looked exactly like the last one and, despite themselves, they began to wonder if they were only going in circles. Sherlock could feel his irritation rising, even the click-clacking of Jim's shoes on the floor irked him. Judging by the stony expression of the criminals' face, he was becoming the same way. But before either one could lose patience completely and start a brawl, a light opened up from a door in the corridor. Sherlock pushed the door with a little too much force and they stepped through into a bustling shop area.

"Hello, are you two lost?" A woman with a big name badge reading 'Hello, my name is Clara' asked.  
>"No." Sherlock snipped. Jim rolled his eyes. How the detective managed to function in everyday society was beyond him. Actually, no, what was beyond him was how he managed to function in society before he had John to apologise for him and kick his arse when he was being too much of a git.<br>"Where's the intensive care unit?" He asked. She directed them passed the shops and through a set of double doors on the left. From there they only had to follow the signs to John's ward.

When they arrived, they could hear the ending credits of a film. Sherlock's mind supplied the title of a James Bond film that John had forced him to watch many times. How someone could watch the same films over and over again and still smile and laugh and gasp the way John did was astounding and the detective found himself watching his lover more than the film. Well out of the two, he knew who he preferred to look at. Sherlock and Jim paused at the door. Steve was sat on the end of the bed, forcing a packet of crisps into a bag along with what looked like some kind of popcorn. Sherlock folded his arms. This explained a lot. John himself could not have moved them both into some unknown section of the hospital. Suddenly, John seemed to become aware that he was being watched, his eyes latched on to them and froze in place. Steve saw his look and turned round, his face a shade paler.

"Would you care to explain why we woke up in a strange, abandoned ward?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the room.  
>"Abandoned?" Steve asked. "The rest of the lads were supposed to be with you." No sooner than the words had left his mouth did the sound of several pairs of feet come pounding down the corridor.<br>"Steve!" Conner panted. "They gone-" His eyes fell on the detective and the criminal and he cut of the sentence before it could finish.  
>"You were supposed to stay with them." Steve hissed.<br>"We were only gone for a few minutes." Tim replied. "Five tops, we wanted to find out where the smoking balcony was." John sighed.  
>"Well the timing could have been worse." He hummed. "Cheers guys, I enjoyed the movie." Steve knew that tone of voice, it was one that said he should leave now before the shitstorm really started.<br>"I'll leave you to it, then." He answered with a wink, sliding off of the hospital bed. Sherlock and Jim let him leave without argument and Steve chose not to question why. He grabbed the rest of his old team and left quickly.

John sighed, the TV buzzing static filled the room with white noise.  
>"You two don't have to be such arses all the time." He hummed, shuffling to the side of the bed.<br>"Every time we let you out of our sight you get kidnapped or nearly killed." Moriarty answered him. "I don't know how one man can be so targeted." John smiled at him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The two genii made moves to stop him from getting off the bed and John raised his hands in surrender.  
>"Calm down, I'm not going for a walk." He said. "I just want to move my legs for a bit." He swung his legs as he spoke. Sherlock moved over to stop him, holding his legs still at the knees.<br>"The doctor said you shouldn't move your legs too much while the blisters healed." He replied. John glared at him.  
>"If I don't move I'll get bed sores and they are a hell of a lot worse." He snapped. Sherlock scowled back at him but removed his hands, allowing the soldier to move his legs again.<p>

A nurse walked by just as John was starting to relieve the tension built up in his legs and stopped to look at him crossly. He really didn't have a good repour with the nurses, then again, neither did his two lovers.  
>"Mr Watson, you should be keeping your legs still." She said as she moved the hospital dress up to check the salve covered burns. John himself, had thought that they hadn't needed anything on them for a week but every time he brought it up, the nurses added another day onto the treatment.<br>"Johnny?" The blond doctor froze at that voice. He turned to the door aghast as a plump woman with frizzy blond hair bustled in. "Johnny, what happened to you?"  
>"Mum?" John asked as he was encased in a hug, the nurse had the quick thinking to dodge out of the way before she was pushed to the side. "What are you doing here?" His mother grabbed him by the cheeks, shaking his head.<br>"Don't you remember? It's your birthday. I went round to the flat to give you the present I'd made and you weren't there. I was about to leave but your landlady, lovely woman, invited me in. She said you were in hospital. Of course I came right away." She turned round to see Sherlock and Jim as far away from her as they could be without making it obvious that that was what they were doing.

"Ah, of course. " The woman snarled, he eyes narrowing as she planted herself squarely between John and his lovers. "You two."  
>"Mum." John said in a warning tone, placing a hand on his arm. She shook him off as she went on the offensive.<br>"Still squabbling over my boy, trying to get him to pick you. In my opinion, neither of you should be allowed anywhere near him." The woman snapped. Sherlock stood a little straighter, locking eyes with John's mother. Whatever fear he'd had before vanished with a breath.  
>"Mrs Watson, you have a wonderful son and yes, it is clear you adore him, but even you cannot dictate his life. Many people have tried, ourselves included, and the outcome is always the same. Utter failure, and sometimes this." He gestured to the hospital room. Jim nodded, his thumb rubbing the screen of his phone. John's mother was aghast.<br>"How _dare-_"  
>"Mother!" John snapped. She whipped round to look at him.<br>"What?"  
>"They are mine." The soldier stated. "Both of them. I know you don't approve but it is true. I love them both and I won't trade them for anything. Please stop trying to cause arguments, or fights, or whatever it is that you're trying to do." The woman looked at him in silence, her face unreadable. John kept her gaze, not willing to show any weakness in this.<br>"Okay Johnny." His mother said finally. "I don't like it. But okay." John smiled.  
>"Thanks mum." He sighed, pulling her in for a hug.<br>"Happy birthday." His mother whispered in his ear, patting his back.

The woman pulled out of the hug and walked to the door, stopping before she walked through to turn to the two men stood by it. She took a breath, steeling herself before holding out a hand for Sherlock to shake. The detective curled a lip up at it but a look from John had him grabbing the hand firmly.  
>" I hope we can move passed previous disagreements." She hummed, moving to shake hands with Jim as well. The two men hummed in agreement then she tottered back out of the room.<p>

"What the hell was that?" Jim asked, turning back to John. The doctor shrugged.  
>"My mother is a strange woman." He said, barely containing the grin at the shocked faces of his lovers.<br>"Yes, but she hates us." Sherlock replied. "Loathes us entirely."  
>"And she's happy to try and make amends for me." John hummed. "So, if either of you even think about pushing your luck with her, I will be thinking of a suitable punishment." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. There was only one 'suitable punishment' that John would think of and he really didn't want that to happen.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>One more chapter to go now. So, do we want soppiness or sexiness, or a bit of both?


	20. Chapter 20

**AN-** Last chapter and it's a biggie. This chapter is definitely rated M, it's explicit. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Enjoy  
>B<br>x

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><p>Home at last. John sighed happily as he stepped through the door to 221b with his two flatmates in tow. It had been a week since his mum had visited and he'd finally been cleared by the hospital doctor to go home, on strict bed rest, of course. It took all that John had not to bound down the corridors yelling 'freedom' at the top of his lungs. Mrs Hudson grabbed him in a ferocious hug, with a strength far greater than predicted from her small stature. John hugged her back, his shoulder twinging as he did so. The physio was going well, again, but his movement in the shoulder was far less than before. His physiotherapist was confident that he would regain most of his previous movement, as long as he took things slow and worked little by little so he didn't strain himself. The man had given a stern glare at his lovers while he'd said that bit, making clear that they were not allowed to put a strain on John in any way. John himself had decided that he was going to completely forgo that bit. In fact, he had put in place a plan to jump the both of them the minute they got into their home.<p>

John held the handle to the flat, and pushed the door open.  
>"Welcome home!" The room yelled at him. The soldier was taken back for a second but thankfully the two men behind him were quick to usher him inside so he didn't make a fool of himself. He smiled, accepting the hugs and gifts that people seemed to be showering him with. Some were welcome home presents and some were birthday gifts. Steve had organised, with the permission of Sherlock and Jim, a welcoming party for the doctor. They had been making plans for a birthday party but the extended hospital stay had put a stop to that. John sighed inwardly, though he was happy for the group gathering and the knowledge that he was appreciated by people, what he really wanted to do right now was not this at all. That didn't stop the doctor from having a good time, he gave his lovers one last look then threw himself into the throng of people, abandoning his cane at the table before either man could stop him.<p>

* * *

><p>An hour later, once the party had settled enough for the copious amount of alcohol to take effect, though John himself was not allow any of it because of the various medications he'd been put on. Sherlock and Jim had not drank either, though that was because they hardly drank at all anyway, something about it clouding the mind and killing brain cells. John was usually far too gone by that point to pay attention to what they were saying.<br>"Show us the scars then." Steve hollered, when he'd been at the hospital he'd not been able to see them despite all his pestering. John rolled his eyes.  
>"You don't want to see them really." He hummed, his fingers running along the hem of his shirt. The group nodded enthusiastically and the doctor sighed as he removed his shirt. There was a large circular scar on his abdomen, with two surgical ones next to it where the operation was done, and a horizontal scar across his shoulder over the place where his bullet wound had been. The scar tissue from the bullet was still visible, making the shape of a circle with a line through it where the blade had pierced him. The skin was still red around the wounds, though the stitches had been taken out before he left the hospital.<br>"Give us a twirl then." Someone shouted. John stood up and turned round to show his back where the blade had gone right through.

"I thought you'd gotten more injured than that." Connor stated, raising an eyebrow. With the amount of time spent in hospital, he couldn't see why there were only a couple of scars. Mainly because John would not have stayed that long if he were physically able to leave. Jim sniggered.  
>"Yeh, John, where are your other battle scars?" He asked snidely. John glared at him.<br>"You know we don't talk about those." He said. The soldier hadn't gotten used to the burns on his legs yet, they felt alien somehow, too smooth for one thing. But now that it had been mentioned, he knew he would have to show them because he would be badgered constantly for the rest of his life until he did.

"About what?" Conner asked. John sighed and undid his belt buckle. The group immediately put their hands up with a chorus of 'woahs' as they all tried to look away. John grinned and unbutton his jeans.  
>"You really don't need to show us anymore." Steve said, holding a hand over his eyes. John's wolfish grin grew wider.<br>"Oh no, it's no problem. Besides, I was told I shouldn't wear too much clothing while they're still healing." He answered as he dropped his trousers.

The room was silent for a few moments as they took into account the burns covering the whole front of John's thighs. A trail had burned down his right calf, slipping under the support sock on his ankle and out of sight.  
>"That… is impressive." Connor conceded, leaning forward without realising it. John rolled his eyes as he brought a hand down to his legs. His friend really were like an open book.<br>"Just go ahead and feel them." He said, gesturing to the glistening skin. Connor bit his lip but any inhibitions he might have had vanished with the seventh bottle of Carlsberg he'd chugged.  
>"Dude." His army buddy exclaimed as his hands ghosted across the skin. John laughed as he saw the furious faces of his lovers out of the corner of his eyes. Sherlock had wanted to be the first person to categorise the new wounds and Jim, well Jim just didn't like anyone else touching him.<p>

* * *

><p>As the night wore on, John got more and more restless. It wasn't that he didn't like the party, it was just that he had made plans himself for what he wanted to do on his first night back home. Steve knew him well and with a wink he collected the rest of the party goers and shuffled them out of the door. The army doctor grinned, knowing that this meant he owed Steve a pint or three, and his stories to go with them. His army friends clambered in the direction of the door, Connor hitting the table, a wall and a radiator on the way out. How they were going to get down the stairs, John didn't know but it wasn't his problem right now. He had something far more important to do. He positioned himself between Sherlock and Jim, not too close but almost within arms reach of each. The soldier waited for the door to close then he lunged.<p>

One hand grabbed Sherlock's collar and pulled him down for a brutal kiss while the other set to work undoing the buttons of Jim's shirt. Both genii had seen this coming but they didn't expect the fire behind the actions. John didn't wait for them to catch up though, his tongue danced inside the detective's mouth as he dragged the criminal closer by his belt buckle. Sherlock brought his hands up to cup the doctor's face as his brain finally kicked in gear. Jim had slot right behind the blond male, his hands round the front of the other's body, scrambling to find the hem of his T-shirt. When his fingers gained purchase, he tugged upwards rapidly, pulling the shirt out of John's jeans and straight up. The doctor had to break away from Sherlock as his shirt came over his face but he was back again as soon as it was out of the way.

"We should probably move this to the bedroom." Jim purred, not wanting to frighten Mrs Hudson and further damage his reputation with her. John ignored him, unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt within a matter of seconds. The detective hoisted John up, getting him to wrap his legs around his waist, and gestured for Jim to open the door.

The next thing John knew, he was being deposited on the large bed in Sherlock's room. He gasped as the cold linens pressed against his back before growling as he pulled the other two men down with him. John's fingers curled in the dark hair of Moriarty as he pulled the criminal into a kiss almost identical to the one he'd given Sherlock moments before. The consulting criminal moaned into his mouth and began devesting them both of trousers. Sherlock helped, not wanting to be left out in any part of this. The doctor lifted his legs one at a time so that his jeans could be removed from him. The item of clothing was flung somewhere behind them, where it landed, nobody cared. John finally broke free from Jim to litter his chest with butterfly kisses and little nips. Jealous, Sherlock pulled him backwards by the hips. John hadn't expected the forceful grab and ended up face-planting Jim's crotch. Jim chuckled, earning him a scowl from the doctor followed by a nuzzle which had the criminal curling his toes.

Jim thrust his hips upwards as John set to work mouthing him through his boxers. The criminal moaned unabashed, winking at Sherlock as he did. Sherlock growled, hooking a finger under the waistband of John's boxers and lowering them to around his mid thighs before grabbing the already hard member he had just released. John shuddered, his elbows wobbling as he strained to keep himself somewhat upright. Something slick pressed against his entrance and John gasped, his insides sparking. The doctor moved his mouth off the now damp boxers so he could slip his fingers inside and pull them down. He looked behind him, at Sherlock who had somehow got completely naked since the last time John looked at him. The detective smiled darkly, one slicked hand pumping himself slowly as the other made small circles around John's hole.  
>"Oh… you're a bastard." John moaned as the first section of a finger slipped in only to fall back out again. Sherlock grinned.<br>"Actually, my parents were married when they had me. Jim's the bastard." He sarked back.

The soldier glared at him, about to kick the man, then a better idea popped into his head. He turned back to Jim and lowered his head to the swollen head, licking it from tip to base back to tip again before engulfing it in his mouth. Jim keened, throwing his head back. The soldier grinned pushing down as far as he could go and swallowing around the engorged member before pulling back off completely as his gag reflex began to set in.  
>"If you do that, I'm not going to last long." Moriarty growled, bringing John up to attack his mouth, tasting himself. The soldier chuckled, pulling away tantalisingly.<br>"Well…" He purred, tracing circles with his index finger on the criminals pelvis.

Sherlock was beginning to realise he was being ignored. He scowled childishly and grabbed John's hips. The soldier looked at him, stroppy and wanting, and decided to take pity on him.  
>"Come over here then." He said, patting the bed. Sherlock leapt onto the mattress, not about to given his lover chance to change his mind. John lay down, pulling Sherlock in front of him and Moriarty behind. The criminal muttered something almost inaudible about always being the one behind.<br>"Shut up, you know you like it there best." John answered bluntly. Jim paused then shrugged as he realised it was true.  
>"I like seeing your face though." He replied. The soldier grinned.<br>"Trust me, you'll be seeing a lot of that."

* * *

><p>How they'd managed to get into this position, John wasn't sure but one minute he had each hand stroking a cock teasingly slowly and was engaged in a tongue war with Sherlock while Jim was doing his best to tickle the section of skin between his perineum and balls and the next minute he was on his knees was Sherlock's member in front of his face and what he hoped was Jim's fingers against his other entrance. John turned, just to make sure, and yes, they were fingers.<br>"Do you want me to wet those?" He asked. The fingers thrust into his mouth. The doctor swirled his tongue, getting the digits as wet as possible before they were dragged away from him again.

When John turned back Sherlock was pouting again.  
>"Oh for God's sake." The soldier cursed. "Please tell me you're not going to throw a wobbly every time my attention wavers from you slightly." Sherlock turned his nose up.<br>"Pay attention to me and you won't have to find out." He snipped. John rolled his eyes and lowered his head to ghost over the hard cock.

Jim waited for exactly the right moment to put the first finger in. That moment was the second that John throat was being brushed by Sherlock's cock. The soldier jumped forward at the intrusion, pushing the hard member further into his mouth which in turn made him gag and pull back, pushing himself on Jim's finger. The gasp that erupted form the doctor's mouth was exquisite.  
>"Ooh, you git." John moaned, his eyes watering. Jim smirked and added a second finger. Sherlock was giving him that look again so the doctor moved back to start sucking in earnest, swirling his tongue around the head each time he pulled back. The detective's hand wound its way into his hair and gripped tight, as though his lover was holding on for dear life.<p>

"You ready?" Moriarty asked. John nodded wildly, unable to talk with his mouth full. "Good." Jim answered as he pushed inside in one smooth stroke. John keened loudly, his jaw going slack. Sherlock decided he'd been ignored enough and slowly began moving his hip. The doctor grounded himself on his hands and knees and let his two genii have their way with him. His shoulder ached terribly but John tried not to let it show, he didn't want this to stop. Sherlock noticed his discomfort though and stilled his movements, now completely out of his partners mouth.  
>"You should say something if you're hurting." He said in a firm voice. Jim stopped pounding at those words. He'd been too worked up to notice himself.<br>"I was enjoying myself." John answered in a rasp. The detective rolled his eyes but the admonishment came from behind.  
>"Yes but I would like to enjoy you tomorrow night as well and that's not going to happen if you're in pain all day." He quibbed.<p>

Knowing that John himself wasn't going to move, his two lovers rolled him onto his side, the side of his good shoulder. Jim moved round to the front as Sherlock slotted behind. The detective lifted up his leg gently and held it there as he slid inside. John expected to get another cock in his face but Moriarty had other plans as he lay down flush against him and crushed their mouths together. Their tongues immediately began the battle, sliding against each other as each man tried to gain access into the others mouth. The criminals' nails began to rake down his skin but they stopped almost as soon as they'd started and turned to twirling circles getting ever closer to John's groin. Just before Moriarty's hand reached its destination, Sherlock wrapped an arm round John and gripped his member, pumping it slowly. The soldier groaned into Jim's mouth, allowing the man to slip inside.

* * *

><p>John could feel his orgasm mounting. He brought a hand down to Jim's member and slowly moved his fingers across the skin. The criminal's hand had reached John's cock only to find another had already there. He scowled, and after a small scuffle for who had purchase, both his and Sherlock's hand were wrapped around, almost entwined with each other. John gasped at the new sensation, breaking away from Jim's mouth.<br>"I…." He trailed off, unable to form the words. Sherlock and Jim knew exactly what he was going to say though and they stopped their movements, squeezing the base of his member to stop him cumming. John groaned.

"I'm really not going to last." The doctor said once his tongue had started functioning properly again. Sherlock licked John's earlobe, nipping at the top.  
>"Neither am I." He replied, moving ever so slowly inside John. Jim shrugged.<br>"I could be hours." He hummed sarcastically. John glared at him.  
>"Oh really?" He asked, taking it as a challenge. The soldier pulled the criminal up so he could take him into his mouth.<br>"Please, I have perfect control." Jim scoffed. John raised an eyebrow and set to work.

Sherlock had to admit, John was very good at that. He watched his enemy become a perfectly deconstructed mess in John's hands, well mouth. For the first thirty seconds it looked like the criminal might have been right but after that he slipped into pure bliss and was no longer in control of anything. The detective started pumping John's member again as his thrusting got more wild. He couldn't go back now, he was too close to the knife edge. From the sounds John was making, he was there too and as for Jim, well, if his slumped posture and slack mouth were anything to go by, he was going to be cumming any second.

John clenche and Sherlock's orgasm ripped through him. A gasp forced its way past the detective's teeth as he rode out the aftershocks. The doctor came over the detective's hand as he gave a final swirl of his tongue and sucked hard. Jim couldn't hold back and ejaculated straight into the doctors mouth. John swallowed everything he could. A white trail slipped out of the corner of his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

The doctor glanced up at Moriarty with a grin. Sherlock had all but collapsed beside him after carefully pulling out. The look of his two genii, thoroughly debauched, was too much. A giggle broke free, followed soon after by a full blown laugh. His laugh proved infectious and soon all three were beside themselves in laughter.  
>"Oh God." John gasped through chuckles. "My physio is going to kill me." The laughter ceased for a second as his words sank in. The serious expression mirrored on both of his partners faces was more than enough to set John off again and he collapsed into a fit of giggles.<p>

* * *

><p>The three showered quickly, well quickly-ish. As quick as three men in a shower could be when they're still intent on as much skin contact as possible. After everyone had dried, John offered to make tea for everyone while the other two fought over the proper way to make a bed and who got to be on which side. They hadn't been in the same bed as each other since John… since… in a long time. John called that the tea was ready and the two men all but leapt out of the room, determined to be the first to get their cup. The doctor rolled his eyes and handed them their cups at the same time.<br>"Children." He muttered, bringing his own cup to his lips.

* * *

><p>Seven hours later, John was half sat against the headboard, resting on a fresh set of bed linens with a lover on either side. For all involved it had been a stressful month and that was evident in the fact that both genii were now fast asleep. John chuckled quietly to himself as he noted they looked almost peaceful like this, both with arms around his waist. Sherlock had a head on his shoulder while Jim was on his chest, where he'd moved to be away from the injured shoulder. They weren't always this considerate, in fact they were almost never this considerate. But John never asked them to be. These were two men who had never shared anything in their lives and here they were, both equally in charge of his heart and both equally proud of it. Yes, this was a twisted, tainted kind of love, but it was John's love and he would never trade it for the world.<p>

**END**

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>And we've reached the end. I'm thinking about doing a third, let me know what you think. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me, I know we've had a few setbacks along the way but reading reviews and seeing the views have kept me going. Until the next time.

B  
>x<p> 


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